The Price of Gratitude
by MalayaKai
Summary: A human mage, who's both a hermit & a pacifist, must deal with the consequences that follow after a night of passion entangles her fate with that of a Troll hunter. **This is mostly brain fudge, with an attempt at a story in there somewhere. Be gentle.**
1. The Hermit

The sun was setting.

Maia watched the skies burn with color as the day ended, the mage contentedly perched on the roof of her humble little house. Her skirts were tucked around her feet, her hands busy with the mindless task of brushing her long, thick hair.

As days go, it had been production and satisfying; she had just returned from an excursion to the roads, had met with a trade caravan, on time for once, and made a tidy sum selling her wares to the intrepid tradesmen on their way to the various outposts and cities on their travels.

The goblins were shrewd but to some degree, honest and quite respectful to traders and craftsmen, especially those who devoted their entire focus to their profession. Maia had demonstrated repeatedly that, while off the grid, her work was exceptional and peerless in its imaginative design. And while any goblin would tell you that time is everything, her work even had_ them _waiting on the road for a day or two, if storms or monsters happened to delay her. She was quite flattered by this, and made a point to take a few custom jobs from the caravan leaders at least once a year, usually in time for the Winter Veil festival.

Every finger the human mage had was adorned by a ring, some gold, some silver, some even platinum... a dozen bracelets split between two wrists adorned her arms, clinking softly as her clever fingers continued to untangle her hair. The dusky sunlight caught the metal as she moved, glittering mutely; her generous lips curved in a small smile, and she paused to admire the metalwork.

It wasn't vanity. It was well earned pride; Maia was a metalsmith, a jewel-crafter, and she worked very hard at her trade because she loved it so. Not only did it earn her money and buy her a place far, far from the whole wretched war, but it also fed something deep and sacred within her, a hunger that she'd never known was there until she'd first sated it. Always, she sought to learn more of her craft, and knew that a true master understood that there was always more to learn, and there was never enough practice to be had.

Her small house was tucked away along the coastline above the closed city of Gilneas, built between two enormous pine trees and snug between the cliffs at her back and the ocean before her. The natural stone harbor, though small, kept the tide from creeping very close to her home. The beach curved out from the stones, the stones from the turf, the turf from grass.

The house itself had been built mostly by Maia herself, the materials brought in with her proto-drake. The large, beautiful, primal beast had objected to being used as a construction transport, but didn't protest otherwise. Maia had little use for flying her into battle these days, and while the feral nature of Sun-Iron would suggest a love of violence, her drake was content sunning herself on the rocks along the coast.

Stone walls made up the front of the building, the architecture similar to that of a Dwarven house. She had dug into the soft dirt of the cliff, the turf pulled over to form the roof, grass and wild flowers left to grow as they would. It was here that she sat, legs dangling over.

Two stories tall, the stone was warm gray, the cracks filled with moss and lichen to keep out the wind, though the cove did most of the protecting from the harsher elements. Her bed-chamber made up most of the top floor, the bottom floor made up mostly for the kitchen and living room.

Further up the cliff and to the right of her home, there was a seperate building, the room within almost as large as her whole house put together. Dug into the earth, the front wall was mostly made of one large window, to let in as much light as possible, the roof cleared back and braced with iron beams that framed glass, making the structure a greenhouse built into the mountain. It was here that she practiced her art, crafting her living and pleasing the hunger within.

Her musing came to an end, the sun almost only a sliver of light glowing on the horizon, the woman dropped down to the modest balcony below. As she made ready to sleep, she couldn't help but smile at the world in thanks, and joy.

It had been a good day, one more day she wasn't setting fire to the homes of innocents, or fighting a cause she didn't believe in. One more day of doing what she loved, at peace, and alone.

It had been a good day.

* * *

The next afternoon found her in linen trews, a baggy shirt and a tight fitting vest, her long dark hair bound up and tucked beneath a large-brimmed pale hat. The sun beat down in earnest, causing sweat to bead up on her brown skin and making her white cotton shirt stick to her working arms.

She was crouched before a large chunk of exposed volcanic rock, chipping away at a vein of silver.

_Tnk tnk tnk-!_ went the metal as she dug at it with her pick and chisel, dropping nuggets into her large reed basket. She'd nearly filled it this morning, and now she had happened across this bit of glinting silver on the surface of the rough, weather-beaten stone. Heavy though it was, she couldn't help but top off her gathered materials.

Experience had taught Maia that it was best to gather one metal per trip, to keep cross-contamination to a minimum. Nothing was worse than melting down a batch of ore, casting it into ingots, only to find cracks and bubbles in the metal when she turned it into wire and stock. Best case, the cracks would splinter when the customer was wearing it, and possibly make them bleed. Worst case, a pocket of magic would snare in the bubbles and the whole item would explode when the wearer accessed the magical benefits the piece possessed. Explosion size would not matter; someone would probably die.

Satisfied at last, she tucked her pick into her belt and tossed her chisel atop the pile of ore in her basket, then hawled the whole thing up and slipped her arms through the straps. Eyes on the shore, she made her way south, and home.

She had taken to sticking primarily to the coast, never straying too close to the walls of Gilneas, prefering instead to forage north. She kept the ocean in her sights most days, and today was no exception.

The sea was beautiful, with the expansive sky meeting the water some far off, immeasurable distance away... As she walked, she sighed, smiling. It was an understatement to say that she loved it here.

_Let the world destroy itself_, she thought. _I am happy staying out of the whole mess._

It's true, most of her jewelry went off to adorn and aid Alliance soldiers and warriors, but thanks to the Goblin neutrality, members of the Horde were given the chance to purchase her enchanted wares too.

She never told her Guild leader this, of course.

As it was, she thought it was none of his business; he benefited from her expertise as she sent the best of what she made to him to disperse amongst the other guild members, and he had one less person to keep track of. He knew exactly where she was and exactly how to get a hold of her.

Picking her way from sand to turf, she made sure to hide her tracks the closer she got to home. While friends and guild members knew where she lived, she didn't want to inadvertently lead anyone to her tiny bit of paradise. That had only happened once, and she had no interest in doing so again. Thankfully, because of the cliffs and Gilneas' shuttered walls, she only had to worry about threats coming from the north. Keeping her home hidden was easy enough, though required a little forethought.

Lost in thought, trekking and gazing at the sea, Maia didn't notice the world tremble until her foot missed the ground.

With a grunt and a shift in weight, she managed to get most of her fall on her knees, lest the burden of her basket tip forward. Eyes wide, she scrabbled away from the ocean as fast as she could manage, animal panic driving her legs forward. She didn't look back, only sensing the danger.

The world, however, had different plans. Everything went dark, and a sudden trickle of heat in the air warned of fire, and burnt flesh.

With a gasp, unable to see, Maia jerked and made the elegant motions of a spell, her fingertips glowing blue as the sigil left lines in the dark. As the walls of protective, impenetrable ice encased her form, her eyes widened as the red light of something horrible loomed overhead...

The light of normal day returned, muted by clouds of ash and dush. It found Maia just shaking off the last bits of her spell, melted water wafting from her clothing in gentle steam. It was brief, whatever it was that had wracked the earth. Brief, but incredibly powerful.

_What in all the hells has happened?_

The lines of the coast had changed. The water had risen, a tower of ocean, and had pounded against the land. Large trees, rocks, chunks of landscape, all had been wrenched asunder and some had even been claimed by the sea.

The mage didn't realize she was panting until spots started to form in her vision, and she sat down with shaking legs. The earth was soaked, but she didn't care; the walk home was bound to drench her-

"_Fuck_," she swore.

And then she was running.

She hadn't gone that far to scavenge for metal, but she didn't realize how close she'd been to home before she rounded the bend of exposed cliff and ran over rock, sand, and grass. Fearing the worse, she scrambled over damp bedrock and hawled herself up and over the natural wall and into her hidden cove.

The relief was staggering; the natural formation of rock and earth and tree had kept her little house protected. As far as she could tell, all that told of the destruction she'd witnessed was a new waterline about a foot up the stone and door. Her studio was untouched, her trees were solid.

The sigh that escaped her was loud to her ears; the world had gone quiet in the wake of the darkness. Quiet, and yet horribly disturbed. As unchanged as her little world had been, what else had been affected by the rage of fire, gloom, and ash?

_And what had caused it all?_


	2. The Unexpected Visitor

She got an answer to her first question not long later. Tossing the driftwood that had washed on to her beach to the grass to dry out as firewood later, she realized what she thought had been a bit of strangely colored debris floating in the water turned out instead to be a large dead animal. Specifically, a dead kodo.

Maia blinked. _A kodo? Here?_

And then she saw another kodo. This one also drowned, floating, war harness glinting, freshly polished. This one differed, however, as his rider was still attached to him. Also dead.

She climbed up the ladder perched at the side of her house, and then hoisted herself on to a limb of one tree. Climbing up and up, each new bit of height made her eyes grow wide, and then wider, and wider, until she almost fell, missing a branch. Clutching the bark, mouth agape, she stared out to sea.

Ships, Orc ships, were coming north, on fire, fleeing quickly. Some ships were sinking, falling apart as they went, large red sails billowing in the reckless wind... a wind, until now, that hadn't been noticed by Maia.

_Even the wind has changed direction._

Still some distance away from her shoreline, their angle suggested an effort to make landfall further up the coast. She flinched as one ship caught fire suddenly, burst into flames, and then exploded. Half of it blew to pieces, the other half sank quickly. She could hear the shouts of alarm and cries of panic, watched horrified as burning bodies hit the water, only to move no more.

Arms clenched hard as she clung to her tree, Maia looked on knowing she could do nothing.

The bodies began to wash ashore that night. Maia spent the whole next day building a grate at the mouth of her cove, to keep more from washing up next to her house.

Then, garbed from head to toe in mage-armor, she mounted up Sun-Iron, and took her drake for a flight.

Her suspiscions were affirmed; the Horde vessels had made landfall about a mile north, making camp to regroup and assess their wounded. As they did not seem interested in exploring or invading (at least at the moment), she let them be.

Satisfied, she turned Sun-Iron back towards their home. She would inform her Guild leader of the occurence, should he prove interested. Otherwise, the war was still no place for her.

They landed on the cliffs behind the house, the proto-drake clutching at the soft rock and earth, snarling as she raked downward until Maia could hop off and onto the roof. Her mind was already on the letter she would write, and she was thus distracted until she noticed that her grate had been obliterated.

Soon enough, she saw why: something had crashed into it. And that something was bleeding into her grass.

It was a large bird, raven-black with dyed feathers of blue and red and yellow. Beads glittered on its legs and head, decorations that proclaimed the owner's mark. It was flopping weakly on the ground, shrieking its pain and desperation; the woman could see its wing was broken, a jagged bit of timber peeking through his shoulder.

Maia winced and scurried down the ladder, grabbing rope and a large canvas-cloth as she went. Approaching the bird, she realized it was actually an eagle, dyed black-blue to blend into the night. This wasn't just a pet, this was a hunter's pet.

She didn't think; she threw the cloth over the thrashing creature and crooned at it.

"Ssaa..." she murmured, laying a hand on the quivering tarp. "Ssaa... let me help you." The movement beneath it stilled. "I promise," she continued, knotting the rope to slip around the covered form. "I know I am a human, but I mean no harm."

She knew what it meant to help a member of the opposing faction, even if it was simply a minion and not an actual sentient soldier. But then, she'd maintained her neutrality for so long, it was hard to remember which side she was really on.

_My side_, she reminded herself. _I'm not going to let this creature suffer for the beliefs of his owner._ She lifted her head to chirp at Sun-Iron, who oblidgingly landed, carefully, next to the cloth-covered animal.

"Gently," she told her. "I can't help him here, there's not enough room. Take him to the otherside of the cove-wall." _That way_, she thought, _he won't inadvertently destroy anything or feel completely vulnerable._

Sun-Iron _whrruf_ed at her, and careful did as she was told. Maia scrambled over the wall just as the drake dropped her burden carefully on the ground, staying put just long enough to catch the smoked piece of salmon her owner tossed her, before sweeping her wings downward, climbing the air to her usual perch atop the cliffs.

Armed with herbs and bandages, Maia assessed the damage of her accidental guest. It appeared that he had been injured before he crashed. That was a bit of a relief; she'd been worried her grate had been the cause of all this. No, the timber impaling the poor creature's wing was from a ship, perhaps the one she saw exploding into splinters a hundred yards from her window.

The bird remained still, much to her surprise, even when she yanked the large stake through his wing. If a bird had teeth, she was sure he was gritting them, but he was wise enough to remain silent. The shudder that rippled through him made her wince, though; he was doing everything he could to stay still.

"That's not usual," she murmured to him. "I was certain I'd have to drug you to let me help, Blackbird." The raptor snorted softly, shifting against the grass. She raised an eyebrow. He understood Common. Interesting. _That means he's probably a spy. Or, rather, a spy's spy._ She sighed. Too late now.

"Well, I don't know your real name," she chuckled at him. "So it's Blackbird until you tell me otherwise."

She managed to get the bleeding to stop and bind the wounds and wing as best she could. He stood carefully on shaking legs, reminding her of her own trauma after the world went black the day before. He made his way away from the water to the corner of cliff where her wall met the stone. Sheltered thusly, he settled down and tucked himself against the rock, sighing as he did so.

She dragged a bit of dead tree in front of his hiding place, just enough to keep him out of sight of... well, anything. It'd do no good to bandage him up just to have him eaten by some hungry passerby. He seemed to sense her meaning, and bowed his head in gratitude. Or, what she thought was gratitude. _Can birds be grateful...?_ Smiling at him, she placed a small catch of smoked fish by his side.

_Yes, definitely_. The bird _was_ grateful, and she could see by his expression that he was even surprised. He set about gobbling the meal she provided, and while he did so she took the chance to get a really good look at him.

The jewelry on him was subtle, the decorations made with love and practicality. Unable to help herself, she drew a slow hand along the strand of beads around his throat, and the other that dangled just under his beak. She was rewarded with a soft _chrrurr_ from him, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Will you be all right here on your own?" she asked quietly. She'd left him plenty of food, but she knew the best thing for such injuries was rest and the time to do so. He chirped at her again, and she nodded, hoisting herself over the wall to assess her home.

The grate was an easy fix, though she had to drag a few bodies back out to sea before she replaced it. The turf that had been dug up from the struggling raptor was pointless to fix; she opted instead to plant more herbs there.

_It's just as well_, she thought. _I'd rather plant the stuff that keeps the vermin away_.

Raising her hands to her brow, she looked outward at the setting sun. It was already getting late, and while she loved to dig in the dirt, it would have to wait.

"Damn," she muttered. She'd forgotten to write her letter to Warren. She rolled her eyes and headed back up to her house. It wasn't _that_ pressing that she couldn't wait until tomorrow to do that too, she decided.

The spot she'd chosen for her home had another advantage, one she didn't brag about; beyond the bedroom that had been dug out on the top floor was a hot spring, and she never had to build that particular room. It had been a hollow area she had stumbled upon, the rock crumbling so quickly she had feared a cave in. Instead, she had been blessed with her own natural bathing chamber.

The hotspring bubbled in a large pool, deep enough that it could have held a Tauren comfortably, and wide enough to hold three of them. She had carved out benches and shelves, the former for sitting and bathing without submersion, and the latter to hold ladles, sponges, and buckets to bathe with. Through magic and a little hard work, she had managed to divert a normal spring into this same room, though the pool it fed into was smaller and much shallower.

Pulling off her clothing as she went, she stalked into this precious natural cave, grabbing a plush towel and a dish of soap on her way. She didn't quite jump into the hot spring, but she came close. Scrubbing at the dirt and blood on her skin and in her hair, she wondered what she would do with her erstwhile patient.

_Let him go_, she thought. _Of course._ But she couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something else she ought to do.

Still musing about this after her bath, she considered her options as she dressed herself for bed and toweled off her hair.

_It's not like he can pay me_, she wondered. _Or swear secrecy as to my hide-away_. She sighed. _Gods, I'm exhausted_, she thought as she slid under the covers of her bed. _I'll figure it all out tomorrow. _

She extinguished the fire in her hearth with a thought, and closed her eyes in the comforting darkness.


	3. An Appreciative Owner

Maia woke that night to a painful weight on her chest.

Gasping, she struggled to breathe, dully noting that a small windstorm seemed to be loose in her bedroom. A windstorm that shrieked and squalled and flapped it's great big black wings-

_Blackbird!_ she thought. Was someone trying to kill him? How did he make it to her house? Was he injured further?

The weight bore down harder, and with it came a waft of spiced air, and a muttered word of warning.

That's when she realized what was happening: she was being pinned, and the bird was mantling angrily at her attacker.

She struggled and bucked, trying to dislodge the man atop her. There was a sharp grunt as her knee hit something yielding, and it got easier to breathe. She barked a spell, squeezing her eyes shut as a blast of ice split from her body and froze everything in her room in place. With a gasp, she wrenched herself from the clutching, strong hands that kept her pinned and threw herself forward, across the distance of space and time until she found herself rolling across grass and sand.

The short-distance teleportation spell had always been a life-saver, but she usually had her destination in sight before doing it. She was confident she knew the ground around her home fairly well, but it didn't matter when she practically 'blinked' into a rock. The snap she heard, accompanied by the searing pain, assured her she had sprained her anke, if not broken it.

Maia couldn't stop the torrent of swear words that poured out of her mouth, even as she struggled to keep moving forward. Her hands found stone and, with a wave of despair, she realized she was in no condition to climb the wall.

She pressed her brow to the wind-beaten rock, closing her eyes. _Dammit dammit dammit_. She struggled to think of her options, but her ankle made that passingly difficult.

There was a gust of air and a squawk just behind her. She whirled around to come face to face with her ebony patient as he landed in front of her. He mantled, flapping his wings, his head easily high enough to gaze into her eyes; Maia was rather short, for a human.

The golden gaze of the eagle blinked at her as he made that familiar _chuurrrrr_ sound that meant he was content. Maia frowned in confusion, hoping flaring in her chest. The large bird of prey stepped closer flexing his wing purposefully. It was then she realized that his wing had been mended, and as he set his beak on her shoulder, closing his eyes, it occured to her that he was still emitting that feeling of gratitude. But how had he healed so fast?

"Blackbird?" she mumbled at him, still shaking from fear and adrenaline. "What in all the hells is going on?" she whispered deserpately into the feathers of his throat.

He chirped, then slowly swiveled his head. Maia tensed as the figure of a tall figure melted from the night-time shadows. As he slinked closer, her eyes grew wide. _Oh crap._

The Troll slinking towards her was withdrawing his risen arrow, his rigid shoulders slowly going lax. Rubbing his thigh, the hunter was eyeing her with a wary expression, alternating with curious glances to his avian pet. Without meaning to, Maia pressed her shoulders back against the solid wall, eyes growing wider the closer he got. The bird mantled at the hunter, biting out a sharp noise; a reprimand.

Maia realized she was panting; she couldn't tear her eyes away. He was...

_...he's stunning._ She blinked at her own thought, but couldn't find anything remiss about it. It was true. He was an intense sight.

Shoulders curled forward, he was still quite tall. Maia's head barely came up to this hunter's chin. As most trolls went, he was taller than any she'd seen, though the tusks he sported were almost delicate to others she'd seen. They curved up, slender, the ivory color almost matching the color of his hair.

Thick, his mane was fashioned into a crest, a mohawk, and it was the color of pale sand, nearly white. His skin was dusky blue, and it sheathed muscle and sinew, rippling with promise and a hunter's grace. He was absolutely breath-taking.

He was garbed in leather from head to toe, with an ivory wool shirt beneath it all. The marks on his cheeks and scalp matched the ones on his bird, the patterns the same. A few braids on either side of his head were adorned with glass beads, Maia could hear them tinkle faintly as he moved.

She watched as, still regarding her warily, he slowly drew his bow over his head, the bowstring taut across his chest. He replaced the arrow he'd nocked back into his quiver and let the whole thing settle on the grass. Hands empty, he brought them up, palm out, and said something softly in his native tongue.

Shaking her head, she pulled her face into a puzzled expression, trying to will her muscles to yield, her body to stop shaking. Blackbird hunched his shoulders and churred at her again. WIthout knowing why, she trusted the avian, and let herself listen to the Troll. Again, he spoke to her, the syllables rough and rolling together, but it was the emotion behind them she was trying to pay attention to.

He was trying to calm her, she realized, as he approached slowly, hunching a little more to bring his height to something less threatening.

_Which is impossible_, she thought wryly, _as he's still got a good three feet on me._ She still continued breathing hard, pressing back into the stone behind her, unable to relent and trust this stranger.

Maia was no fool; while she was a pacifist as often as she could manage it, she knew that most members of the Horde would kill her as soon as look at her. As this hunter had snuck into her home and threatened to kill her for what he thought was the capture of his pet, it was just more proof at how untrusting the denizens of this war were. Despite this awareness, Maia couldn't bring herself to harm the occassional wandering Orc or drifting Forsaken that wandered about. Life wasn't fair, but while she couldn't control the world, she _could _control herself, and there was no way she'd kill someone just for the sake of killing, unlike many of her 'comrades'. And members of the Horde, for that matter.

_I wouldn't want anyone to do that to me_, she'd decided long ago. And while this particular golden rule was a hard standard to expect everyone to live up to, it was the standard she held to herself. Even if it meant inevitably causing her harm or worse.

Remembering this, she let the Troll drift closer while the large eagle backed away. She felt exposed as Blackbird pulled aside, but then that could also have been attributed to the fact that she wore little more than a sleeveless cotton chemise that didn't even graze the tops of her knees. She shifted nervously, only to have her ankle shriek at her.

The mage didn't know she'd been about to topple over until the Troll was there, large hands at her waist and arm, angular face consuming her vision. He asked something, a note of surprise in his voice. She shook her head again, favoring her injured leg, and pointed to the already swelling ankle. Crouching down, letting her lean against his shoulder, a three-fingered hand skimmed down her calf, gently probing. She bit her lip as he rolled her foot, then gritted out a curse word as he flexed it back. Adrenaline still poured through her nerves, and the pain had her breathing hard again.

With a squeak, she found herself lifted, swept up and over the shoulder of the hunter. Understanding the necessity but not the indignity, Maia protested all the way to her bedroom, her hands frantically trying to pull down the back of her nightgown, hoping to all the Gods that the draft of air she felt back there was not because she was exposed for all the world to see.

She was blushing furiously when she was set on the edge of her bed, pushing tangled mahogany waves from her face. "You did NOT have to carry me like th-" she began to splutter, before she felt a jerk at her ankle, a loud pop, and loosed a pained, startled cry.

"Fucking HELLS-" she gasped, rubbing the offended joint... only to realize it didn't hurt anymore. Experimentally, she rolled her foot, and then again, faster. It was still a little sore but didn't hurt near as badly as it had, and she glanced up at her rescuer to find him grinning happily.

It was no wonder; her nightgown was hiked above her hips, and, leaning forward, she'd given him a fine view of her cleavage, and then some.

Maia wasn't what you would call modest. She wasn't a brazen whore neither, but she'd had her fair share of lovers and was relatively comfortable in her skin. Despite that, however, she'd had a streak of virgin shyness that she was never able to overcome, a trait that left her with the ability to blush and cover her flesh less she look indecent.

It's not that she was bad looking, either; shorter than most humans (the heads of most Dwarves came up to her nose), what she lacked in height she made up for in curves. Wide hips curved into a smaller waist, only to flare outward to a round ribcage and shoulders with width to match her hips. She wasn't overly abundant in the chest department, but definitely had a rounder, larger bum that easily compared to the behinds of most Dwarven ladies. In fact, the nick-name around most of her guildmates had been 'The Tall Dwarf'.

It was the aforementioned streak that kicked in now, that made her cheeks burn dark, dark red and had her hands trying to tug down the cloth back down over her bare flesh. "This will teach me to sleep naked ever again," she grumbled.

Her hands were stopped when they were covered by the hunter's, her wide, dark eyes jerking up to his face.

His were gray, she noted, a silver gray that sparkled with wit and warmth. She drew in a startled breath, his hooked, hawkish nose brushing her cheek as his mouth murmured something quiet to her; another question, this one so obvious that she didn't even need to consider what it meant.

He was breathing slowly, that earthy, spicy smell that had earlier sent her into a panic now making her brain numb with pleasure.

_He smells so good_, she thought, leaning into him. A slender tusk brushed her cheek, drawing down to tickle her jaw, trace forward across her chin as his mouth planted a warm, soft kiss just under her ear. A shudder rippled through her, and she couldn't help it; she moaned.

_OhgodswhatamIDOING_- she thought hysterically, just before she turned her head and claimed his mouth with her own.

With a growl of surprise, the Troll wound his arms around her waist and dragged her into his lap, the hunter still crouched on the floor before her bed. Hands that felt hot, rough with callouses, ran across her muscled thighs under her cotton night gown and dug nails into her hips. She gasped against his mouth, her knees on either side of his waist, and resisted the urge to wrap her legs around him.

"Tsah, tsah," he whispered to her, an unknowing echo of her earlier soothing to his wounded eagle. His hands traveled around the curve of her bare bottom, up the expanse of her lower back, the gesture slow, firm.

Shaking from head to toe, her teeth chattering with excitement and leftover adrenaline, Maia closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. It felt impossible.

_One moment I'm sleeping,_ she mused,_ the next I'm moaning in the arms of an enemy soldier... a Troll, no less!_ Something in her tried to scold her for her lack of patriotism, for her foolish disregard, but that voice was small and homeless; she'd long since stopped seeing the lines of good and evil in the Alliance and the Horde.

Such were the last of her coherent thoughts; his mouth had settled at the most sensitive spot of her neck, where her throat met her shoulder. He was still murmuring at her, trying to calm her, to soothe her, his hands running slowly up and down her bare back. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes, gritting her teeth and willing herself to relax.

For such large hands and only three fingers to each, he was surprisingly nimble; she didn't realize he'd undone the buttons down the front of her gown until he was tugging aside the fabric. Bizarrely, she tried to fight his hands then, trying to draw the edges closed, shaking with nervous tension and desire. He murmured to her again, leaning forward of a sudden and spilling her back on to her bed and rumpled blankets.

Blinking back the hazy fog brought on by intense desire, her second attempt to draw the gown closed was too late; his hands drew up her thighs, his rough skin to her smooth, the sensation making her arch against her mattress. She heard a word of appreciation, noting that he had opened her cotton chemise again. There was a great deal of warmth in that single word, the sincerity so intense that it had her opening her eyes to stare at him.

He was above her, kneeling between her legs, bare-chested and smiling down at her. Unable to help it, she blushed again, though she refused to take her eyes from him. He was lean, incredibly lean for one so tall, but it suited him well. He was graceful and moved with gentle purpose, whether it had been retrieving his arrow or running his hands up her legs. Feeling for all the world like a traitor to her faction, Maia couldn't help but want this man.

He was waiting for her. She didn't know how she knew, but he wasn't going to take one step further into ... into _this_ without her consent and cooperation. He was giving her the choice; yes, or no?

Biting her lip, her hands reached up to clasp behind his neck, drawing him down on top of her. He growled appreciatively as bare flesh brushed sensitive, peaked nipples. She tilted her chin to take his mouth again, her teeth closing around his bottom lip as his leather-clad hips settled between her thighs. Now she wrapped her legs around him, rubbing herself up and in to him and the growing shape between his legs, panting around his kiss as he moaned in response. The sound thrilled her; she was affecting him as much as he was her.

Her brown hands trailed up the back of his neck, skimming along the edges of his ears before entangling in his pale hair. Her mouth opened at the same time, tongue darting forward to taste the inner edge of his lips, enjoying the flavor and texture of his kiss. He twitched in surprise, only to return the gesture in kind, multiplied; his tongue swept past hers, tasting, drawing back, only to plunder her mouth again. Soon, the kiss became suggestive, with him seeking entry, pressing his advance, only to withdraw and then press in again.

How long this went on, she didn't know. After an eternity and a minute, he pulled back, leaving her lips wonderfully swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded with warm hunger. He was in about the same shape, panting, lips moist from her mouth and slightly parted. He mumbled something at her, an expression of wonder on his face. Not caring what he said, she brought her hands to his hips, fingers tugging on his belt, exploring the lacings of his leather breeches. "You're wearing far too much clothing," she muttered breathlessly.

There was an exhalation of surprise, followed by a soft chuckle and his hands wrapping around her wrists. She blinked, looking up at him; didn't he want to...?

He shook his head and grinned, pointing out the window and pulling his hands together to mimic the winged silhoutte of a bird. She blinked at him again. He whispered something else, as sincere as anything she could understand from him, heart-felt and thankful.

Ah. "Oh, um. You're welcome," she replied, ducking her head in a shameful shyness that startled even herself. _That's what this ways, _she thought, bemused. She cleared her throat."This was ah... quite the 'thank you'," she added with a nervous chuckle, and made to sit up and scoot off the bed.

He planted a hand against her bare chest to stop her, and as she looked up at him in confusion, that hand move around to expose her breast fully, cupping it's warm shape as his thumb brushed over her aroused, pointed nipple.

The sensation was indescribable. He leaned over her again, pressing down against her a second time. Her arms threatened to wind around his neck as she squirmed beneath him, only to have him escape her embrace and slip down her body. Opening her mouth to protest, she lifted her head-

-only to have his mouth plant a warm, slow kiss between her thighs.

Her head dropped back and her eyes went wide, mouth drawing open to inhale a long, shuddering breath. She felt smooth tusks press against the insides of her legs, until his hands hooked under her knees and pushed them back, spreading her completely open to him. The gesture sent her mind tumbling into a lovely, sweet madness, making her whimper in aroused gratitude.

His tongue, hot and wet, darted forward to tease her swollen clitoris, drawing down the length of her sex only to come back up and dab gently at her opening. Whimpering louder, she dug her fingers into her covers, gasping as he slid more of his talented tongue into her.

"Please-!" she gasped, writhing under his mouth. "This... this isn't necess-"

There was a snarl, then his lips closed around her sensitive nub of flesh, and he suckled on her.

Her hips bucked against his mouth, one of his hands taking advantage by propping up her bottom, his other hand slipping a thick, long finger into her dripping, clenching sex. With a jerk, she cried out, her own hands coming up to cover her eyes, her arms practically wrapping around her head as she clutched at herself, overwhelmed by him and what he was doing to her. His mouth became rhythmic in his suckling, as did his stroking, curling finger.

"Ohgods-" she moaned, helpless to this onslaught of feeling, her hips pumping in time to him. "Pleasepleaseplease," she begged without knowing what it was she begged for, her thighs straining against his shoulders, her pelvis lifting. It was building, all of it, the sensations gathering like a closing fist in her hips growing tighter, and tighter.

Then she fell.

The world became nothing but sensation, warm and red and dark, rippling through her body like endless ecstacy. Her orgasm claimed her so hard and swiftly that she clenched around his finger, drawing it in as deep as she could, and vaguely heard him growl with continued appreciation. In her coming, she felt his mouth nurse and pull at her clitoris, turning the ripples of pleasure into screaming waves, sending her over into an abyss of pleasant insanity and complete, claiming darkness.


	4. Somewhat More Than A Kiss Or Two

***Belated disclaimer, though it's rather obvious: I DO NOT OWN WORLD OF WARCRAFT. The only thing I own is Maia and her hottie of a hunter.***

****Also, thank you for the favorites, subscriptions and reviews. My grammatical errors in previous chapters do stare mockingly at me, but that's my fault for proof-reading at 2am.****

* * *

Maia awoke naked and laying on her stomach to the feel of warm sunlight on her bare shoulders, her cheek pillowed against something firm and almost hot.

Squinting against the light, she shadowed her face with a hand, wondering why she'd left the curtains opened last night, only to have her memory crash in to her.

She lifted her head in shock, her dark hair framing her vision as she stared at the living pillow she'd been cuddling against.

The Troll was still sleeping. His breathing was the shallow, steady kind that came with deep slumber, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other still wound about her, his hand cupping the curve of her behind. He still wore his leather breeches, the belt loosened for comfort but for comfort only.

Her cheeks burned furiously as she remembered... well, everything, even the part when he resisted her efforts to remove his pants. But after that...

_Well, after that, things get... muddled_, she thought, examining her memories again. Biting her lip, she felt heat swell between her thighs as she recalled his mouth and his hands, and her cheeks tingled with the tell-tale sensation of fierce blushing.

She vaguely remembered his smug satisfaction as he climbed into her bed, pulling her to sprawl atop him. She remembered pressing her face into his chest and inhaling his scent; she remembered his hand running down her spine, his breathing labored as he calmed his desire by sheer will alone. He had pulled her chemise from her body, and dragged a blanket over them both.

Maia bit her lip as she sat up, some shred of modesty reminding her that her chemise was still nearby, and was a handy thing to cover her chest with. Her eyes stayed on him, mindful of waking him. She bit back a giggle when she saw how well he _didn't_ fit her bed, his legs hanging off the edge.

_Gods,_ she thought. _He must be at least eight feet tall..._

Sprawled and tangled in her blankets, he was still an awesome sight; free to examine him, she let her eyes wander, taking in the broad shoulders, the muscled, defined chest, and stomach. Even when he breathed, his body rippled; the man was an athlete of a hunter.

With a gentle hand, she reached out to lift a glass bead at the end of one long, narrow plait that rested along his neck; the bead had been sand-blasted, its normal glossy surface made matte with a deliberate texture. _So as not to catch the light_, she pondered. All the ornamentation he wore was thusly muted, details to be noted in person but not at great distances.

A flutter and rustle of feathers caught her attention, and she lifted her head to gaze out the open window. Blue-ebony feathers glinted as Blackbird winged into her yard, landing with a soft call. Smiling, she moved to get up and great the beautiful beast.

A dusky blue hand shot out and wound about her waist, pulling her back atop her unexpected visitor. Maia gasped, squirming in his grip, only to go still and quiver as his warm, calloused palms ran down the planes of her back, his large fingers kneading her flesh as he went. A tusk grazed her shoulder, and she whimpered when he planted a soft, tender kiss just above the swell of her left breast.

That deep, male voice murmured into her curves. He was looking at her, a small smile on his lips, his free hand threading sleepily into his tangled white hair, wincing as he caught at a snarl. His other hand slid down across the full swell of her hip, inquisitive fingers slipping along her crevice from behind.

She dug her fingers into his biceps, eyes fluttering shut as he robbed her of all coherent thought. Panting, her thighs spread of their own accord as a thick digit slid into her moist, hungry body. He made a noise of approval, his mouth kissing at her throat as she tilted her head back.

"Gods," she breathed, shaking, his finger moving in firm, rhythmic strokes. It was building again, that ball of heat in her belly, the knots of sensation that rendered her mindless. Her hips were moving against him, in time to his strokes as he watched what he was doing to her sanity.

Eyes opening to slits, she looked down at him, her lips parted to pant. Sure enough, he was staring at her intently, his smile amused, pleased, as he coaxed moan after soft, helpless moan from her trembling mouth. _She was losing her mind_.

In an instant, he had flipped her to her back, moving his hand to accost her from the front, palm settling against her pubis as he slid his finger back into her. Crying out, she threw her head back and spread her thighs, the hunter increasing his pace.

Digging her fingers into his arms, her spine arching above the bed, a torrent of pleas spilling from her lips as she begged him to stop, to not stop, to go faster, to give her more, harder, slower, no stop-

He didn't even pause as he added another finger, stretching her wide, his pace still faster, his movements firmer.

That was all it took; with a jerk and a buck of her hips, she threw her head back, a cacophony of sound exploding from her throat as she cried out again and again, body spasming as she clenched down on his stroking fingers. Sensing her need, he pressed them in one last time, harder than all the times before, and kept them within her, fingers curled up, pressing a hidden, sensitive spot in firm, rhythmic patterns.

Each inner bit of pressure threw her over the edge, again and again, until she'd lost count of how many times she'd found her release, until she was a sobbing wreck of a woman, wrung out and drenched with sweat and the honey of her sex.

Vaguely, some time later, she was aware of being carried, her cheek against a dusky, blue-skinned chest, her body cradled by strong arms. There was the sound of water, a hiss of pleasure, and slowly, slowly, she was submerged into her hotspring pool up to her chin.

Rough hands rubbed at her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms. She opened her eyes slowly to stare at the hunter, watching as he smiled into her gaze. He said something softly, wonder in his voice, as one hand paused to touch her swollen, tingling sex. She bit back a whimper and twitched in his lap, the Troll whispering to her soothingly as he withdrew his hand.

He lifted her chin and kissed her softly, shifting to press her against a wall of the pool, his hands rubbing down her sides, drawing up her thighs to wrap her legs around his waist.

It was then that Maia realized he had lost his pants.

She had about a moment to process this before she felt him nudging at her opening, and realized, with widening eyes, that his attentions earlier hadn't been completely selfless; he was easily wider than his two thick fingers.

"Wait," she gasped, going tense, her hands moving to press feebly at this chest. It was too late, however; with a shift of weight and a well angled thrust, he slid slowly, carefully into her.

She wasn't quite prepared for the sound she made; it was a cross between a wail and a cry, soft but piercing. It startled him as well, making him pause midthrust to gaze at her. Her head had fallen back against the rim of the pool, her breathing ragged, her eyes shut to slits, and he brought his hands up to cup the back of her head, drawing her chin down to stare into her eyes. He intoned a question, his brow furrowed, his words sounding worried.

It was hard to keep her eyes open around the feel of him, and she struggled to explain to him what she was feeling. Her body betrayed her, however; trembling, her hips twitched and he moved a little inside of her, the intense sensation making her sex clench, hard, along him.

The change was remarkable; his worried expression became pained, the Troll baring his teeth as he growled in frustrated restraint. Witnessing his feral pleasure was almost enough to send her over the edge, her thighs flinching around his lean form. Suddenly quite decided, Maia wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close, tilting her hips to draw him inward, as deep as she could manage.

With a groan and a shift, he settled between her thighs and sank completely into her, never taking his eyes from hers. She felt her body stretch to accomodate his thick, hard cock, her arms winding around his neck as he began the slow rolling rhythm that would send them both beyond the brink. Breathing hard, he watched her watching him, his hands braced against the rim behind her. His powerful hips were trembling with checked desire, and Maia could feel the control it took to keep him from pinning her to the rock and pounding her without remorse.

But she wanted all of him.

Shaking hands framed his face, and she stared into his silver eyes. Licking her lips, sure she had his attention, she shuddered.

"Fuck me," she said slowly, letting tone and emotion convey what she needed him to understand.

His expression flickered, the meaning clear and unmistakeable. His head twitched as he meant to shake his head at her, but she slid her fingers into his damp hair, clenching them into fists as she pulled his tresses, tilting his chin up.

"Fuck me," she groaned into his throat, before her teeth closed on skin and she bit him firmly.

He jerked and voiced a throaty growl, shoving her back against the smooth stone, hooking his hands behind her knees and spreading her incredibly wide. Her arms wound tight around his neck, clinging to him, as he changed his angle and pace, thrusting hard into her.

"Yes," she whimpered, pressing her face into the side of his neck as he began to buck against her, his hips rolling in firm, rigid strokes. He pushed cry after sharp, desperate cry from her lips, gritting out wild, angry-sounding words into her ear, alternately nipping at her skin, and pressing his teeth firmly into her flesh. As his pace increased, so did Maia's cries, and soon she was wailing, clawing at his shoulders as she felt her coming close, burning through her, making her tense with need.

A three-fingered hand sank into her hair and wrenched her head back, the gesture not gentle but dominant and painless. He stared into her eyes as he pounded into her, harder and harder, his teeth bared in an exquisite, deep, resonating snarl. It was getting more and more difficult to focus, to breathe-

"_Come fo' me_," he bit out, growling in low, reverberating tones.

Her eyes went wide, and her body did what he commanded, muscles clenching, fluttering around his thick shape. He dug the fingers of his free hand into one of her buttocks, one digit teasing the pucker of her nether opening as she quaked against him, unable to breathe.

Her vision was starting to dim, and he ground out, "Breathe, woman." She gasped, her arms tightening around his neck, the rush of oxygen enhancing her orgasm. Still, he thrust into her, hissing desperate, angry curse words in his native tongue.

As her climax plataued, she felt it build again as he continued to fuck her, until she was moaning mindlessly against him. She felt her body begin to succumb, her hips writhing and straining into his thrusts. His hand clenched in her hair again, pulling her head back to stare into her eyes.

"_Again_," he breathed, wonder and lust staining his voice.

Helpless, she did.

It was then, watching her come at his command, that he released himself at last. With a shout and a few last series of hard, spasmodic jerks, he emptied his seed into her, pinning her to the stone with his hips.

When she finally came back to herself, she was limp and blissful, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder, her panting in time to his ragged breathing. He was shaking against her, his arms wound tight about her shoulders. Murmuring into his skin, she blinked slowly and tilted her head to peer at him.

Catching her gaze, he smiled weakly and shook his head, leaning back to half-float in the pool, keeping her close. He bit her shoulder gently, smiling more as she twitched sharply and moaned.

"Ya be an unexpected surprise, magey," he mumbled at her. "Dat's fo' sure."

For a long moment, she simply soaked that in, relaxing against him. Realization, however slow at first, surged through her soon enough and brought with it a sobering clarity. Blinking, she lifted her head to stare at him. And punch him _hard_ in the shoulder. He grunted in surprise.

"You bloody bastard!" she gasped. "You speak _Common_...!"

His grin bated her, and she struggled in his embrace. "You understood every damn thing I said yesterday! I ought to have... of all the... why didn't I..." she spluttered, trying to break free. "I'm such a fool," she blurted out. "I should have known this for a trick-"

Before she could blink, she was pinned against the edge of the pool a second time, the thick, rigid length of him penetrating her sex smoothly. With a cry, she threw her head back, her thighs wedged open around his hips, his hands digging into her buttocks. Panting, she was dimly aware of his savage snarl.

"Don' do dat," he growled at her, his hips rolling against her, withdrawing the thick, intense length of him slowly, only to lean forward and sink into her again. She whimpered shrilly, startled by his response.

_Don't do what-?_

A large hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "_Don' do dat,_" he whispered fiercely, his lips skimming the surface of her cheekbone.

Unknowingly, her eyes were apparently betraying her, tears seeping down her face as the intensity of the hunter made her body weep with over-stimulation. She inhaled sharply, her breath exploding from her in a startled sob.

"Tsssaah..." he murmured to her, his hips pausing, settling himself snug to her, not moving, pressed firm. He pressed his lips to her hair, her brow. "Ya be no fool," he breathed. "I be da fool, fo' not trustin' you as much as ya trusted me."

Maia cursed at herself, closing her eyes as she buried her face in his neck, shaking from the intensity of everything, of him. He continued to croon softly at her, running his hands through her hair, up and down her neck, like she was a newly tamed beast he'd claimed for his own.

She didn't like that comparison. It struck too close to home.

Still, she didn't pull away. They remained like that a long while, he buried in her and she with her face in the crook of his neck. Maia couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so...

So...

* * *

She had apparently fallen asleep, as the next time she woke it was in her bedroom, the walls harshly golden with the light of the setting sun. Bolting upright, eyes wide, she looked frantically about her. Had it all been a dream? Panic took hold of her, climbed into her throat unbidden and froze her in place with its mere existence.

_This isn't like me_, she thought frantically. _I don't _do _this..._

Just as she was about to call out, her mouth opening to do so, the door to her room creaked open. Her head turned so fast that her hair whipped across her shoulder, tickling her skin. She brushed at it as the tall, lanky troll made his way to her.

"I needs be leavin', girly," he intoned, dropping to crouch beside her bed. "I got things needs be doin', folks ta report ta 'fore dey start sendin' search parties afta me."

Maia nodded as she swung her legs over the edge of her bed, tugging at the shirt she was wearing as she turned towards him. He smirked at her, reaching out to casually undo buttons.

"An' I be needin' mah shirt back," he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly, deliberately popped one. Button. At. A time.

"Your shirt?" she whispered back, confused. Looking down, she saw he was right; she was wearing his shirt.

"Ya were shiverin' when I pulled ya out o' dat water," he replied, grinning as she began to tremble beneath the exposure of skin. "Sens'tive thing, aintcha?" he teased. Buttons undone, he parted the fabric, the smile melting from his face, a hungrier expression taking its place.

Before she knew it, he was looming over her, pressing her back into the bed while her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. His calloused palm rubbed her belly, slid up to open the shirt fully, eyes traveling downward as he revealed skin and the lush, full shapes of her breasts. His eyes grew dark, his mouth dropping low to brush a pink, perky nipple with his moistened lips. Maia inhaled sharply, arching her back and closing her eyes, fingers entangling in his hair again.

"Mmmf," he grunted, lifting his head slowly to glare playfully at her. "Jus' fixed dat," he complained good-naturedly. Carefully, he drew her hands from his mane, fingers lacing with hers as he met her gaze.

He was quiet a long moment, simply looking at her as she looked right back at him. Deliberately, his hands disengaged from hers, winding around her wrists to push the sleeves up along her arm, eventually pulling the garment from her limbs and rendering her naked. Again.

"Why is you always take my clothes off and never let me take off any of yours?" she muttered, frowning at him while her fingers brushed mussed pale tresses from his eyes.

"We only jus' met, magey," he replied with a grin. "Mebbe next time I let ya, mm?"

Her brow furrowed, her fingers fiddling timidly with a narrow plait that started at his crown and went almost to his sternum. There were words in her head, foolish words. Things she wanted to say, promises she didn't want him to make.

But she couldn't make herself meet his eyes again, and she couldn't tear her gaze from the pale thin braid and it's collection of delicate beads.

"Hey," he said softly, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I'ma say dis now, woman, an' I be needin' ya ta remember it, mm?"

"Maia."

He tilted his head. "Eh?"

"Me," she murmured. "My name. It's Maia."

She watched his generous mouth curve into a slow, pleased smile.

"Dis ain't somethin' ol' Koda be used ta doin'," he rumbled softly. "I don' make it a habit ta be sleepin' wit da enemy, or a stranger, fo' dat matta." His thumb traced the underside of her bottom lip, something he seemed to enjoy doing, she noted.

He leaned closer, his eyes willing hers to return his gaze. "I be sayin' dis, _Maia_," he breathed, "...'cause ya need ta understan' dat I will be back." A growl resonated through his throat. "An' I be expectin' ya to be ready fo' me."

His hand trailed from her jaw to her neck, gripping her gently. "Me," he whispered, "An' only me."

Much later, when she had watched him slink off into the twilight shadows and meld soundlessly into the dark, his black eagle soaring somewhere ahead of him, she realized he'd severed the very braid she'd been toying with and wound it around her wrist when she hadn't been looking.

It was bound there with a bit of red thread, artfully knotted into the glass beads that adorned the plait. Sitting on her roof, the moon rising as the wind tugged gently at her damp, freshly-washed hair, for the first time since she'd taken up living there, it was not the ocean she gazed at wistfully when the stars came out.

It was the gleam of moonlight on her wrist she couldn't take her eyes from, her fingers toying with the beads, musing over the promise in Koda's kiss, and wondering what in all the hells she'd gotten herself in to.


	5. Business As Usual

It was remarkable to Maia that she settled back into her life and routine so easily.

The day after Koda left, she was in her studio, working delligently on a custom bracelet for a fellow guildmember. By the third day, it was nearly finished. A creation of gold and mithril, a frivolous, filigreed thing, all she had left to do was soldering in the settings for the ametrines that would go into it. Cumbersome and lovely, the wide bracelet was completely without enchantments and would remain so; it was a gift intended for a beloved from an admirer.

As was customary when she worked, her mind wandered, her thoughts almost meditative as her hands and eyes did what they needed without conscious direction. Her torch was turned low so as not to melt delicate wires unintentionally, the work going slow but progressing nicely.

Koda was at the fore-front of her mind, and after dreaming about him the entire night before, she decided that it was best not to resist anymore. Mostly, her memories replayed themselves in her mind's eye, causing her to catch her sleeve on fire twice, and singe the last few inches of her hair more than that. Eventually, she had cut off the crispy ends and piled her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.

_He's not even here and he's bloody distracting_, she lamented silently.

Still, it was hard to keep from smiling. Her lips still felt swollen from his kiss, and every little movement brought an echo of pain to the depths of her hips. Pleasantly sore, it made her laugh helplessly at herself every time she sat down.

While her clothing was suffering from her inability to focus, her work ethic was quite the opposite. She hadn't accomplished so much at once in quite a long time, and she couldn't help be feel a little smug. If that was the answer to her mental blocks, she'd gladly pay the price of a sore ... a sore part or two to have the clarity of mind it all seemed to give her.

She let the piece cool, turning off her torch and examining the results. The welding joints were small, neat and barely noticeable. Nodding to herself, she picked up the bracelet with a pair of copper tongues and dropped it in a large glass bowl nearby, submerging the hot metal in a bath of vinegar and water. The liquid hissed before settling, and she transfered the piece to another similar glass bowl filled with only clean water, rinsing it off. She set the bracelet at last on a tattered towel to air dry.

With a sigh, she leaned back and flexed her fingers, stretching her arms above her head as she eased tense muscles, staring thoughtfully at the array of finished work on the bench across the room. Late afternoon sunlight played across the polished, clean items, sparkling as a myriad of gems caught the light and spat it back. Some of these were like the mithril bracelet she'd almost finished, jewelry that had no more magic than a gnat, meant entirely gifted ornaments for friends, lovers, etc. The others that _were _something more, imbedded with enchantments and scribed with spells, had been placed a little further away, each on its own swatch of thick, magically insulating black velvet.

She frowned, pensive. Most of the magical items had homes to go to, orders made and paid for that still needed to be filled. While they were made for guildmembers, she didn't trust the mailing service enough to just ship them to where they needed to go. After a horrid incident where the post-men had coupled a package of fire-blessed mage rings and a box of goblin grenades, Maia concluded that delivering her wares herself was better than the crater the mishap had left behind.

She rubbed the aching knuckles of one hand, considering her calender and her options. It wasn't too cold, winter was a long ways off and the ride wouldn't be too unpleasant if she left soon...

Her mind made up, she stood slowly and stretched again, before carefully folding the velvet around each individual piece of jewelry. She bound them with a small, simple fibula, a brooch who's pin was a part of the design. Each pin was set with a disc of silver, the metal engraved with her personal crest: a curling tendril of diagonal line that resembled a lock of hair, a four pointed starburst in the foreground. After placing each carefully in her traveling case of thick, stiff kodo-hide, she returned to her bench and resumed her work on the mithril bracelet.

The sun had set as she finished the last of the stone-setting, the white metal glinting prettily in the bright latern light. The purple and yellow ametrines were a nice touch against the geometric, organic pattern of the filigree. Wide enough to be more bracer than bracelet, the finished result was a glittering mithril design that mimicked the flowing lines of an insect in repose on the wearer's arm. While it was so smooth and clean that it almost glowed, the metal looked too life-like for Maia's comfort; in fact, out of the corner of her eye, she'd have sworn the monstrous thing would twitch now and then.

She rubbed it down with polishing cloth, examing the surface and the settings for imperfections and pits. Finding none, she placed the bracelet in a pouch made of felt, and added it to the collection in her satchel.

She checked the gaslines and closed off all the nozzles, extinguished the lights after washing her hands. Her mind was already on what she needed to take care of for her journey on the morrow, and for the first time since he'd left, Maia wasn't thinking about the Troll.

Sun-Iron was agreeable to a ride, it seemed, as the next morning she was practically patient while Maia tightened the proto-drake's harness and attached satchels of leather and canvas to either side of her saddle. The mage kissed the dragon-kin's nose in gratitude, and her mount mantled in pleasure.

Her house and studio locked up and warded with spells and enchantments, Maia paused atop her beast to look back over everything. Shifting in her seat, her feet tucked up into the stirrups, her hands fiddling with her reins, the thought to leave a note of some kind crossed her mind.

_For who?_ she thought, exasperated with herself. _He won't come back so soon, if he comes back at all. _That last bit she knew was the height of her irrationality; while she wasn't sure when he returned, her few moments with Koda left little doubt that he was anything but a fickle-minded liar who made promises he couldn't keep.

Heat stung her cheeks as she felt the truth in this stray thought, and she dismissed the idea of leaving behind a message ... just in case.

_I am free to do what I like. I belong to no one, and if he wants me, he can seek me out as he pleases. _

Satisfied, she clicked her tongue and shook out the leather lines, signaling her drake. Sun-Iron mantled again, calling out a roar to the sky, and leapt into the air, clawing upward with strong downward strokes of her large wings. The mage tugged at the reins until they were pointed north-east, a free hand pulling at the fur-lined cloak about her shoulders as they glided up above the clouds. Her drake had an amazing amount of stamina, but it was still going to be a long, cold trek to the floating city of Dalaran, even at the height of summer.


	6. A Delivery Gone Askew

_"...if only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark of the trees was as soft as the skies..."_

Maia sang softly as she pulled bags and saddle from Sun-Iron, piling everything at the feet of her proto-drake. She patted the scaled, rust-colored shoulder fondly.

"Hunt yourself sick but not stupid," she chuckled. The drake opened her maw to rumble and hiss at the permission. "I'll probably be ready to leave in a few days. Drop by in three, mm?" She scratched her mount's chin, grinning as the creature's eyes lidded in pleasure. "Don't leave me to use one of the gryphons to get home. You know their dander makes me sneeze."

Sun-Iron snorted indignantly at this, making her way to the edge of the landing platform. Maia watched her drop off the edge, waiting to see the dragonkin coasting towards the horizon before hefting her bags to one shoulder and gripping the dragon-saddle with her free hand.

Dalaran was at the height of its business today, carts and wares on display along the edges of the streets, people of all races and professions and factions coming and going as they pleased. Classified as a 'sanctuary' here in the middle of Northrend, both the Horde and the Alliance had headquarters here. While this close proximity with each other led to all manner of fights, arguments, and skirmishes, the presence of the Kirin Tor kept such things to a minimum, and at the very least, encouraged the disagreements to settle themselves in private.

Maia finally managed to get to an inn, renting a small room in the highest tower she could obtain. Of all the things she disliked about cities, the crowds were the worst. The further she could get from the hustle and bustle and well-trodden streets, the better she felt.

It's not that she was completely agoraphobic, but she toed that line pretty frequently. She had wondered if it was her self-imposed hermitage that made her this way, but more and more she realized that the dislike of over-crowding was the very reason behind her happy exile; she just _didn't like_ being surrounded by people every day.

She dropped her bags on the full-sized bed, throwing the saddle in the far corner against a wall. It wasn't a large room, but it was spacious enough. Two strides brought her to the balcony doors, and she pushed them open to examine her view.

Despite her distaste for crowding, she did love the sight of a decent city. Dalaran was a beacon of beauty and magic, the crowning achievement of decades of magic. The air tingled with energy, and even the most unenlightened of person could feel the breath of the intangible forces that kept the city aloft, its people alive, its functions healthy.

There was a large tub in her room, and while summoning hot water would have been easy enough, she knew that once she climbed in to soak, she wouldn't leave the room until the next morning. She sighed, and opted for a quick wipe-down instead; Maia just had too much to do before she retired for the night, and the sooner she took care of things, the sooner she could head back home.

_And the less I'll have to deal with anyone ... complicated._

She left that thought alone for now, focusing instead on the mundane task of dressing.

Her thick, untamed mass of curly, long dark hair was piled, artfully messy, at the back of her skull, a silver filigree comb keeping the tresses in place. Tear-drop pearls hung at her ears, dangling gayly whenever she moved. Normally, she usually left her bottom lip unadorned, the hole of her piercing hidden by the shape of her generous mouth. It was just under her lip, centered, and her only nod to personal ornamentation. Today, a small diamond set in a tiny starburst lily twinkled there, displaying her ability to do all manner of custom work, including personal body modifications.

She pulled on a pair of butter-colored, soft doe-skin boots, lacing them just under her knees. Her dress, of deceptively simple cut, hugged her hips before flaring out in a wide hem, the skirt full and ending just below her knees. The fabric, a soft, dark red expensive wool, clung to her curves attractively, the scooped neckline accenting her figure without giving anything away, although it was low enough to display a decent amount of bosom. The color of the cloth went well with her warm brown skin, white embroidery edged along the hem and the three-quarter length sleeves in echo of her starburst crest.

Her jewelry was her only advertisement, along with the great praise of her customers and their word-of-mouth suggestions. By wearing her own creations, it was easier for her to obtain orders; no one had to approach her to inquire about her skills if they didn't want to. The pendant at her throat, hung on a chain that settled it just above her cleavage, was the crest of the jewel-crafters guild, an organization seperate from the guild she belonged to socially. It declared her profession openly to anyone that looked, and kept future customers from asking the forever annouying, most irritating of questions: _"Did you make that?"_

She decided she was going to deliver the mithril bracelet first, knowing that the evening was the best time to do it; less people around see such business take place.

Her feet took her down into the lower level of the city, what many call 'The Underbelly'. Here, the rules were bent a little, the rising tensions between the people above easily vented in the arena, or even the darker corners of the tunnels. It wasn't exactly a safe neighborhood, but Maia had trekked through worse.

Plus, she had a personal interest in the goings-on here.

The soft splash of water softened the echo of her footsteps, the runoff glowing with the remnants of several kinds of magic. If Dalaran had one flaw, it was that its denizens were still struggling with a proper means of disposing its excess potions and magics. Still, the side-effects of magical contamination tended to be benign for the most part, and slightly amusing.

After a few turns and doorways, she finally made it to the cavern unofficially termed 'the Black Market'. Here, one could buy ... well, just about anything. The vendors ranged from pleasant seeming to downright threatening, but they all had one thing in common: they all had something to sell, the quicker the better.

Her customer was often here, selling his wares in the shadows while his compatriots stood boldly beneath tents. It kept their heads dry, this place always dripping and damp. The walkways were made of wood, secured in place but partially floating on the water. You see, this wasn't just a hole in the sewers, it was a part of them. The black market was actually situated atop an isolated cistern, the murky waters splashing in little waves against the stone walls by the displacement caused by footfalls on the wooden planks.

She made her way unerringly to a dark corner, and murmured a name.

From the shadows, a figure peeled himself from the darkness to step forward. Rotting flesh and pale, peeking bones marked him as undead, a Forsaken, a loyal citizen of the Bansidhe Queen. Maia smiled at him.

"It's done," she murmured.

Hope flared in his milky eyes, and he bowed low before her. "I... thank you, my lady," he whispered, his voice cracking with more than the decay to his vocal chords. "May I see it first?"

She nodded, expecting this. Fishing around in her bag, she carefully withdrew the pouch she wanted, loosening the drawstring to reveal the contents within. Her smile deepened as he inhaled (...alright, so he made a noise that _sounded_ like an inhale) sharply.

"Ooh..." he whispered, eyes wide and staring, hands twitching to claim the contents. Without so much as a fuss, he withdrew a small bag and passed it over, taking Maia's offered pouch with trembling, careful hands as she took her payment. The mithril bracelet caught the lantern lights and blazed back, purple and yellow gems and flashing white metal. "Oh, she will love this," he sighed. "Oh, lady... I cannot tha-"

Maia shook her head. "Stop that. It's a deal made and paid for. I'm just happy I could craft something so lovely for such a sweet reason!" She smiled, and, unable to help herself, she cupped his rotting cheek. He looked at her, and she was startled to see tears in his eyes. "I just hope your heart does not get broken."

At this, he smiled, straightening a little. "It will not, lady-mage. I loved her madly in life, and she did the same. She is dead now, same as me, moving and making do with this new life we've been given, and our love hasn't changed a bit. But rotting flesh or no," he said, suddenly passionate, "She deserves the pretty baubles and gems of any breathing dame, and I'll be damned beyond and after if she doesn't have something better."

He bowed again. "I will tell others, if you wish?" he whispered faintly. "As was told to me by...?"

Her nod cut him off. "Have them contact me as you did, encrypted and subtle; otherwise, I'll have to use the anonymity and blasted luck of the auction houses again."

As he scampered away, she heard another thankful word. It was impossible to be immune to the romanticism of it all; granted, the lovers were bound in decaying flesh, but they were together, in love, and content with the life they'd be given.

She turned about to leave the dank hole of a market, when a seeking customer came sauntering in. A Troll, by the look of him, but ... off, some how. She discreetly examined him, noting the green, pale flesh, the unkempt, greasy black hair, the dirty clothes, and the reek of rotting fish. Her attempt at discretion, apparently, wasn't prepared for the smell of him, and she stepped over a little further than was polite.

His beady, angry eyes caught her movement, and he shoved at her shoulder. Already off balanced, she shot out a hand to steady herself against the damp wall.

"Stupid _human_," he snarled. "Watch where yer goin'!" He shoved at her shoulder again.

It was almost comical, her attempts to snatch her falling satchel from the air, watching helplessly, time seeming to slow, as her leather bag hit the water, and promptly dissappeared into the shadowy depths.

Her dumbfounded expression lasted but a moment, and she came back to herself a second later to mocking, delighted laughter.

The Troll was deeply amused.

"Aww, de poor ting," he chortled. "Yer face looks to curdle, mon'. Are ya gonna cry now, five-finger?"

Gnashing her teeth, her temper flared out of no where and before she could stop herself, she planted a hand against his chest and loosed her power.

The blast of fire and heat sent him staggering backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. Quickly, the other vendors in the alcove dissappeared, one speeding past them and out into the main sewers, shouting.

Her atttacker straightened with a growl, a new light in his eyes. "Ya gone an' dun it now, girly," he hissed, raising the staff he bore in a menacing, conjuring gesture. Maia braced herself, a spell or three at the ready.

But then he stopped.

In her defensive gestures to ward whatever the creature would throw at her, she'd brought her hands up, palm out, her fingertips glowing blue with the telltale beginnings of magic. The bracelet she wore of Koda's hair and glass beads had been almost ignored by her since arriving, but now, that was impossible.

Staring at it, the fetid Troll leered at her, a hand shooting out to grab her arm. Startled, Maia made no attempt to avoid him, utterly confused by his change of direction. He brought her wrist to his nose, smelling the bracelet, touching the tip of his tongue to a roughened glass bead.

With a jerk, he turned his head and spat. "Zandalari!" he snapped, throwing her hand down so hard she almost ended up with her bag in the water. "Be ya proud of dis mark? Troll hunters mark dere pets dis way." he hissed. "See it bound to ya wrist like a love-token, but dat's impossible. I bet you can' even take it off-"

Maia blinked at him, and before she realized it, her fingers had tangled with the silk thread that bound the bracelet together, end to end. With a tug and a wiggle, it came free easily enough. She held it in front of his face.

His eyes went wide, like she'd kicked him in the stomach.

"Impossible..." he whispered, licking his lips and looking her up and down. She slipped the bracelet back on, his expression suddenly very different, and much more dangerous than his previous one of personal offense. Now he looked... interested. Interested, and very, very hungry.

"Whore," he ground out, stepping up to her so quickly that she had no time to react. Her eyes went wide, pressed suddenly into a wet stone wall. "Ya wear it willingly," he continued, "...dat means... it means..." He licked his lips again, his breath wafting across her face. She almost choked.

Fear took hold, fear and utter fascination.

Timidly, she licked her lips, wanting to know more, and asked, "Why?" She lifted her chin. "What does it mean?" she challenged.

His expression changed again, this time into a leering, disgusting grin. Maia went cold inside.

"Means ya fucked a Troll, cunt," he sneered at her. "Fucked an' fucked back." He ground into her, snatching a hand into her thick hair, yanking her head back. "Nobody but Troll women can handle da lust of a Troll man, but ya look neither worse for wear," he snarled softly at her. "Ya wear his lock like he owns ya, but like ya own him, too..."

It was odd, the mage noted. She was horrified, frozen, terrified, scared, and completely helpless, slammed between her molestor and unyielding, mold-covered rock, but she was also irrationally elated, pleased beyond measure at the meaning behind the braid of pale hair around her wrist.

That brought her mind back, her fear burning away into focused panic.

"Get off me," she grit out, glaring up at this near-rotting living creature. She thrashed, trying to get a knee up. He avoided it easily, cackling maniacally at her.

"Is too late, girly," he laughed, driving his tongue into her cleavage, licking up her neck and then worming it into her ear. She shrieked.

"Ya be mine now," he snarled, pressing the erection under his robe into her hip, the shape rubbing up against her. "...an' knowin' that ya can take as good as I give is just gonna make dis even better-"

Maia felt her bile rise, and opened her mouth to scream.


	7. No Good Deed

****Thank you for all the favorites, subscriptions and reviews! I'm glad most of you seem to like my bit of brain babble, and I appreciate all the kind words and constructive criticism!****

A fetid hand clamped over Maia's mouth before she could expell her vocal alarm, her eyes going wide in horror, unable to take her eyes from her attacker's face.

"Yo' Troll-boy will be a mite displeased dat his little toy be spoiled." He cackled. "He rather kill ya," he licked his lips, grinning, "than take ya back."

He ran a hand through her hair, and she jerked her head back, digging her teeth into his palm. He bared his teeth in pain, but did not let go. "Don' worry, little brown-skin; I know what ya be worth," he muttered, and leaned very, very close to her. She flinched. "_An' I won' eva let ya go."_

Panic overwhelmed her, the fear making it impossible to access her magic, her body lost in its adrenaline-fueled thrashing. The Troll simply laughed, rubbing himself against her, his free hand pawing at her dress.

She snapped her eyes shut, not out of denial or mental anguish, but out of the intense need to focus. She tried to ignore what he was doing (or might do), she tried to rein in her thoughts, to bring her mind to bear on the situation as one more problem to solve.

As her will began to calm, she began to relax, to let herself breathe through the fear, to let go just a little...

_I am not weak_, she thought fiercely, and opened her eyes.

Just as she did, the Troll went still, his head lifting, and turned his gaze to face the entrance of the tunnel that led to the hidden market. There was a sound, and now she heard it to.

She didn't have time to look; there was a flurry of movement, and her assailant was tackled, wrenched from her. Sturdy and strong, she didn't quite topple over, but she did lose her balance. In the activity and yelling that followed, she fell into the frigid cistern water.

Confused, floundering to the surface, she gripped a plank splitting from the wooden walkway, coughing up water as she tried to understand what she was seeing. There was a fight, a pair of Trolls wrestling in the center of the market. The wooden panels were rocking from the movement and bouncing, jarring Maia's hold, making it harder for her to hang on. Her wool dress weighed down on her, but she was determined to stay above water.

There was yelling, a war cry that sounded almost like a hoarse scream, and the near-wet sound of fist hitting flesh. Maia passed a hand over her eyes, clearing wet hair from her vision, trying to comprehend what was happening.

Her would-be rapist, the clammy skinned, dark-haired Troll, was getting pounded in the face by a much larger, stronger, dusky-blue skinned creature with platinum hair that crested like a wave above his head, a mohawk speckled with matte glass beads and long twisted braids-

Maia gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth.

_Koda-!_

It was hard to recognize him as the Troll she knew. His face was contorted into a mask of fury, his handsome features twisted into a feral expression that was almost sinister, his teeth bared, his eyes...

Those gray, beautiful eyes that she had last seen sparkle silver with mischief and lust...

They were red, a glowing red, the color of blood afire, blazing anger and incalculable rage as he punched, hit, gouged, and tried to strangled the other.

Frozen with fascinated horror, Maia watched as Koda screamed, and she felt almost sorry for the disgusting wretch of bruised flesh that was left of her attacker. The other Troll flinched, and she could see that he knew, he just _knew_ that he was going to pay for assuming too much, for his callous arrogance. She knew his fate, she saw the decision made in the wild mind that was left in Koda, the flicker of determination that sealed his will to the punishment honor demanded.

Maia choked on the cry that was supposed to be a warning, but it never came out. She saw Koda's mouth close, his lips a thin line as his brow furrowed a touch in concentration.

With a ripple of muscle that went from forearms to shoulders, Koda wrenched the Troll's arms at the torso, splattering blood across the walls, the tents, the wares, the walkways, and the churning water beneath it all.

Before the corpse had stopped twitching, Koda had strode over to her, put his hands under her arms and lifted her like a child from the water. He did not set her down; his arms came around her and he held her against him, breathing hard. She could feel his quick, angry breathing, smell the blood on his body, sense his mouth, open, pressing teeth unconsciously (_hard-!) _into her shoulder. And still, he shook with rage, every breath carrying with it the echo of a snarl.

Maia was at a loss, confused, not knowing what to do next. Comfort or pull away? Confront him?

_Only if I want to die_, she thought weakly.

Of a sudden, a familiar shadow materialized out of the tunnel. Her Forsaken customer.

"Nikolas!" she gasped, leaning back in Koda's embrace.

_"Kirin Tor!"_ he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, Maia heard shouts and the distant splash of footsteps coming down the ramp. He gripped her elbow to catch her attention, only to instantly release her as Koda gave him a sharp, warning growl.

"Oh gods," she gasped, pushing away and dropping to her feet. Eyes still glowing, slightly unfocused, Koda turned his head to follow her movements, his gaze never leaving her. Biting her lip, she took everything in quickly, the blood, the body, and her savior... and realized that it looked less like he had rescued her (why would a _Troll_ do that for a human woman?) and more like she twarted an ambush and killed one attacker.

Her mind ground into action, determined to fix this, and she resolved herself to the course.

She muttered a series of words, glowing fingers tracing a circle in the air as she focused on the space behind her Troll. The portal materialized quickly, quicker than it should have. Maia felt her knees buckle as power poured from her, exchanging mana for speed.

Quicker than thought but knowing she was still on borrowed time, she yanked the knife from the Forsaken's sheath at his hip and savagely cut a lock of her hair, taking a small jeweled hairpin with it. Jet and crystal sparkled amidst a mahogany tress as she wrapped Koda's clenching fist around them, pushing him to walk backward towards the glimmering doorway in space and time.

Nikolas took back his blade, glanced over his shoulder, and motioned for Maia to hurry, before turning around and melting back into the shadows.

She stared into Koda's face, wondering what to say, seeing at last that sense was beginning to return to the Troll, the red in his eyes fading to reveal those gray eyes that-

She couldn't finish the thought.

She bit her lip again, hands pressing against his chest. "I'm sorry...!" she whispered, and shoved him.

She had a glimpse of him staggering backwards, eyes wide with knowing what she'd done, and then she sliced her hand through the air, severing the connection, trading more mana for a swift unsummons.

But it was too late. A pair of battle-mages blinked into existence a split second before the last glow of the portal-spell had faded, Koda's stunned face visible, glowing as it hung in the damp air a moment too long.

One of them, the ranking officer by the pattern on his collar, took in the twitching body with its dismembered arms, the spattered blood, the soaked woman in the red dress, and the frothy, churning cistern waters.

He inhaled slowly, straightening to his full height.

"What," he began carefully, "in the name of **Medivh's twisted left testicle **_**is going on here**__?"_

Maia opened her mouth to explain, but her mana-starved body took over from there, robbing her of every last bit of control she had left. Or thought she had left.

Of a sudden, the world began to tilt and darken, and she was unconscious before she hit the water for a second time.

* * *

_And this is how things get complicated._

Maia wondered for about the tenth time that night why she'd ever saved that stupid bird. She massaged her temples, elbows propped up on the desk she sat at, willing the voice aimed at her to not be so damned shrill.

Arin Zarred, her Guildleader, was intensely displeased, and Maia didn't blame him. Not only was his prized jewelcrafter being accused of treason and aiding the enemy of the Alliance, it was bringing his beloved guild negative attention and forcing him into a position of _real_ authority that he was not prepared for.

Maia tried to still her rude thoughts, but being mana-dry was a little like being drunk; it was hard to find room for a mental filter.

Arin was pacing back and forth in front of her, livid.

"-and to make matters worse, you _claim_ that you blacked out and have no idea who the other Troll was and what they were doing there, which is a lie given that you _obviously_ helped him-"

And on it went.

The Kirin Tor were more upset that a body had so dramatically turned up in the Underbelly, instead of getting washed down the drain like it usually would have. Embarassed by this, there was already talk of increasing security in the lower levels, and there was a small number of private, less-than-legal 'organizations' that were cursing the existence of the entire fiasco.

In the end, it came down to numbers. Arin wouldn't dare throw her out of the guild, not just because she was probably the most efficient and valuable craftswoman he had, but for a few other more _complicated_ reasons as well. Maia did not point this out, but she was very tempted to tell Arin to take all of this nonsense and shove it up his tightly puckered rear end.

_There I _ _go again_, she thought, and she tried to rein in her wayward thoughts once more.

"-and you had better keep your nose clean, Maia, unless you want to get put on probation. _That_, I think, would seriously dry up your income." He looked smug, almost satisfied by that little bit. She was not going to enlighten him as to where almost half of her profits came from; it might break his little heart to learn she was ferreting out her goods through the goblins.

Not that she _cared_ how he felt about it, but...

_But money is money, and money lets me have the isolation I need without starving to death or dealing with this stupid war. _

So, like a good girl, she nodded and gave him her best embarrassed expression, and promised that she would mind herself and not get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time again, if she could ever help it.

The officials of the city were satisfied with this, and she was released from their custody. Arin had made more of a fuss with it than _they_ did; the Troll that had died, apparently, had been from the Atal'ai, a tribe of Trolls that were insane in their devotion to their beliefs, zealots of a caliber unfathomable to even the most maniacal of believers. They lived in drowning temples and fed from rotting corpses and answered to creatures that were best never seen or thought of, and they seemed to be determined to bring about the end of the world.

This particular seeker, Maia's attacker, had been in the Underbelly without the knowledge of ... anyone. How he had snuck in bothered the Kirin Tor far more than his untimely death, and honestly, they weren't that unhappy that he'd been 'taken care of' but someone _not_ native to the city, as far as anyone could tell.

But rules were rules, and while most of the Trolls in the city were both indifferent and pleased that someone had killed the nasty, a few of the more up-tight commanders of the Horde were getting their mail knickers in an uncomfortable wad over the callous attitude with which the Alliance was brushing off the incident.

Maia caught a few Horde officers eyeballing her with obvious disgust, and it was only with careful steps and planning ahead that she managed to stay away from them without falling into an unwelcome interview or casual interoggation. She had barely managed to keep Koda's presence out of all this, and she was determined to keep it that way. It wasn't his fault that any of this had happened, and he probably would have stepped up to defend her even if he hadn't known who she was, but she suspected that their... _history_ ... had made his defense of her that much more violent.

Her fingers strayed to the platinum-haired bracelet around her wrist, rubbing at the beads. The Atal'ai had said it was a mark of ownership, or somesuch. Was that why Koda had reacted as he did? Because he looked at her as his property? She tried not to think along that vein too far; it might either piss her off or make her do something foolish. Or both.

Even with all that, though...

She left the bracelet on, and tried to finish her business in Dalaran as quickly as humanly possible.

Thankfully, Nikolas had rescued her satchel; it had been waiting at the foot of her bed at the inn, sitting in a puddle of water. A quick inventory reassured her that everything was there and in fine condition, if a little damp.

She was able to pass out the last of her work and get paid that very next day, and she was packed before noon. As she shouldered her gear and got ready to leave, there was a throat cleared on her balcony.

Again, it was Nikolas. He was perched on the edge of the rail, peering into her room with an urgent expression. She let him in, worried, and asked what was wrong.

"Is it the bracelet?" she fretted. "Did something happen to it?"

He gave her a funny look and shook his head. "You get attacked in the sewers of Dalaran and lie to your own leader for the sake of a member of my faction, and you're worried about a damn commission falling apart?"

She flushed. "Yes, well..." What could she say to that? "I'm ... odd."

He patted her shoulder. "No no, it's just... well, it about the Troll that attacked you."

Maia blinked. "What about him? Is there more of a problem with him that I don't know about? Did he owe someone money? Have a powerful relative?" she asked, exasperation making her a little sarcastic.

He frowned, serious."Maia, this is very serious. His body is missing."

She blinked at him. He continued.

"Traditionally, you set Troll corpses on fire or bathe them in acid, otherwise, they just regenerate and get back up again-"

About five minutes later, she was on the landing and Sun-Iron was getting rigged for the flight. After another five minutes, Maia was in the air. She could not put the city behind her fast enough.

_I think I'll just send things by mail from now on,_ she thought grimly, eyes on the horizon. _Being a hermit is something that requires complete dedication. Like pacifism. _Her mouth twitched.

_Or cannibalism._


	8. A Risky Trade

She hadn't heard anything in weeks.

Maia came back to her home with a list of orders, half from Arin that he considered 'debts' for her antics in the city. Her monthly trip to the roads to meet the goblins landed her several more orders, as well as payment for the ones she'd completed already. So while she was quite busy, she was terribly preoccupied.

_I expected an angry letter,_ she thought, irony coloring her mental voice._ Or maybe even an impromptu visit_.

She blushed as she attempted to solder a stray wire on to an intricate gold brooch, hopeful that she could fret and work at the same time. It'd always been fairly easy to let her mind wander while her hands were busy, but Koda was a topic her brain liked to distract her hands with.

She replayed the events in the Underbelly, over and over, trying to analyze every little detail and understand what had truly happened. Why had he done it? It wasn't just the case of some passerby noticing a person who needed help and coming to her aid. It was... it _seemed_ more than that, like he was defending what was ... well, what was his.

_And the way he held me afterward..._ Like he couldn't help it, like it was his right, and he needed to do it.

She turned off her torch and leaned back, her brow furrowing.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she muttered to herself, dropping the hot metal into the vinegar solution with a pair of tweezers. With a frustrated noise, she stood up from her work bench and left her studio. She needed to get out of there before she let her mind get the better of her hands and she ruined ten hours of work.

Braiding her hair as she went, still frowning, she stalked into her house. Mumbling, she pulled on a comfortable pair of boots and her cloak, collected her gathering basket and her mining pick.

Going for a walk was about all she could think to do to clear her head, and she wouldn't waste a good trek without bringing her mining gear, just in case. It was a beautiful, misty day, the rain sparse but the sky cloudy. The air smelled of wet earth and pine trees, and it was hard to stay irritated for too long. Instead, as she had hoped it would, the walk allowed her thoughts to line up, and she tried to deal with them one at a time.

_It was just sex_. Granted, it was very, very, very good sex, but it was still just sex. ...right? There had been no rhyme or reason, it had just _happened_. She would never be able to explain it to anyone, because if she tried to, it might just as well be that she'd get called out as a brazen whore and a traitor, nevermind that she didn't understand how it had all started to begin with.

_Alright, _she conceded_, so maybe it wasn't just sex. But how can it be more than that with a stranger? A stranger and ... and..._

And here she got lost again. While her feet were sure footed through the paths of the woods that led to granite hills that exposed the most ore, her mind wound circles around itself.

_He could have hurt me_, she thought. _He could have hurt me, he could have killed me and taken everything I owned and burned it all to the ground, and _no one_ would have known because I'm here on my own in the middle of no where._ She kicked an innocent rock, ignoring the fact that it soared high and through the trees. _Because that's how I prefer it, and I always knew that the isolation was a potential problem. _

Which was why most of her funds were stored in a bank, with a note that sent all of it to her sister if Maia hadn't made either an inquiry, a deposit, or a withdrawal in six months. Tharrah knew the password, and if she were notified, she would know how to access all of it, and _no one_ knew that. Common sense would lead someone to think that yes, Maia's money would go to her closest kin, but hardly anyone knew that she even had kin, let alone a sister. The other safeguard, of course, was that Maia and Tharrah looked nothing alike; they were half sisters and only shared the same mother.

She kicked another bit of rock, moving deeper into the forest. Her mind was going off track. With a mental wrench, she put it back on the right path again.

_All the he-could-haves are besides the point, _she thought stubbornly. _The point is that he didn't do any of those things when he had the chance. And besides that, as vulnerable as I was..._

She ducked a branch, pulling up her hood as it began to rain in earnest. Before long, she came to a shallow creek, her boots splashing in the water as she walked through it. Out of habit, she searched the pebbles for the tell-tale stray sparkle, and was rewarded with a flash of metallic sunny yellow. Her brain didn't stop grinding as she fished in her basket for her tin pan.

Soon, she was squatting in the water, sifting through sand and silt for the precious bits of metal. As she found the little flecks and nuggets, she tossed them into a leather pouch she kept with her for the more scarce nubs of ore.

And on and on, her mind also sifted, an echo to her physical actions, trying to find the _real_ source of her frustration.

_...as vulnerable as I was, so was he, _she mused. She tossed a nugget the size of her thumb into the pouch, dropping her pan back into the water and moving the plate in a circular motion.

_Completely at ease, relaxed to the point of carelessness_, she thought, remembering his bared throat, his sprawled form. His snoring.

She chuckled softly, rinsing out the plate and tossing it back into her basket, drawing the strings on her pouch and tying it at her belt. A few birds twittered at her, their sleepy, wet afternoon interrupted by her commotion.

_He was so ... kind to me. _And by kindness, she also meant orgasms.

_A _lot_ of orgasms._

She giggled to herself as she continued on her way, smiling brightly. Even with the sheer eroticism inherent in the situation they had found themselves in, there are some things you can't help but pick up on when you sleep with someone. For one thing, he was very generous. He was also possessive, a little arrogant, and very proud...

Suddenly, it dawned on her. Unable to help it, she threw her head back, her laughter echoing clear and loud through the woods. Her thoughts had finally led her to the crux of the matter.

_I want to get to know him better._

And that was it. She wanted to know him, truly know him, besides the fact that he was a hunter, a Zandalari Troll, had a very large ... presence, and a phenomenal lover, she knew next to nothing about him.

_He has amazing self control,_she mused._ And that isn't just with the bedroom antics, either. The man practically ripples when he breathes, but he can be as gentle as a child when it comes to his hands-_

She almost tripped over her feet, blushing yet again, laughing at herself. "Gods, Maia, pay attention," she grumbled, grinning.

After a few moments of foolish joy, her smile faded and seriousness settled in.

_And where would this all go, if I chase after it? _Her expression turned a little grim; her feet found a deer path, and she followed it eastward. _This could be just a ... a Troll thing for him, a courtship that's more about physical pleasure than anything else. _

Again, she took her darker mood and aimed it at a stray rock. It ricocheted off a nearby tree, scaring a rabbit from the low bushes at its base.

_Anything else... What are you thinking, Maia? _Her lip curled, and she felt a tinge of bitterness. _You think you're falling in love with him? You think he could do the same?_

Her thoughts went silent for several long minutes.

It was her heart that answered, speaking up at last:

_You won't know_, it said, _until you find him again and discover who he really is._

Her mind quaked. _And what if it doesn't... What if... He's a _Troll_. Why should I bother?_

Her intellect had nothing to offer her.

And then again, her heart did.

_Because if you don't_, it replied, _You, Maia Morwyn, will go completely bonkers trying to figure this out on your own._

She winced. And now, finally there was the decision.

Maia had always been impulsive by nature, but a collection of broken hearts and complicated friendships had taught her to rein it in and sit on something before running after it. So that's what she did then; she mused over the idea and argued with herself, weighed the pros and the cons, considered scenarios, options, and potential outcomes, but delibrately avoided deciding on anything at all.

Several hours later, a basket half full of mithril on her back, she made the trek home with no surprises. Her bounty put away to smelt in the morning, she went about her usual evening, still lost in thought.

As the moon rose and it got closer to midnight, Maia left her studio for the second time that day, having made the final touches on the gold brooch she'd been working on earlier. Thankfully, she had thought her way through enough of her mental tangle to work without mishap, and she was happy with what she'd accomplished that night.

Weary to the shoulders, she almost missed the pale figure perched on her wall as she made for the side door to her living quarters.

_Wait a-_

As it was, she backed herself up, looked over, and in an instant her hands spat fire as she made ready to cast any number of spells. She sighted along her arm like she was drawing a bow, her voice steady as she declared,

"State your business or leave. I do not know you."

"Please..." a soft voice cracked. The figure shifted, white face frightened, her large, dark eyes pleading. It amazed Maia that a dead woman could exude so much emotion.

The Forsaken, squatting on the wall, was leaning over, hands pressed to the stone next to her feet. Even from here, the mage could see that she was shaking violently, angular shoulders quaking under thin fabric. The dirt that marred her cheeks had lines of white traced through them, tracks of moisture from actual tears, the skin peering ghostly underneath.

The Undead cleared her throat, her voice trembling. "Please... I ... I was told by a person we both know that y...you can be trusted, that you see no lines and you ask no questions..." she whispered.

Maia relaxed a hair. _My pass phrase..._ But the stranger had missed part of it.

"How do you know this?" she asked in a clear, ringing tone, lifting her arm again, fire crackling from her fingertips.

"Oh," the figure gasped. "I know this because... because you've proven your honorable word with your actions, as both a craftswoman and a pacifist." The woman's expression became hopeful.

Maia dropped her arm, extinguishing the magic with a thought. "Alright," she answered. "And who _really _sent you?"

The woman clambered down, her movements awkward and very clumsy. "Nikolas Laroo," came the muffled answer, before she turned and stepped into the torchlight.

Her face was pale, too pale for any living creature, no longer flushed with blood moving beneath the skin. Instead, it shown like alabaster submerged, lips and cheeks robbed of color, her eyes lit within by an eery, unnatural glow; one of the many traits of the reanimated Forsaken, truly Undead but bound to no one but their own will. Her hair, once black, was now lank and tinged with blue, her clothing tattered by hard wear. Dirt smeared her cheeks and neck, and upon closer inspection, Maia saw that it was also on her hands and under the fingernails, and across knuckles who's bones broke the surface of the skin.

The woman stood silent as Maia looked her over. The mage cocked her head.

"And what is your story?" she asked quietly, curiosity overcoming her professionalism.

The pale creature began to shake again. "Oh please," she begged, and to Maia's shock, the woman actually began to weep. "Please, you must help me-"

Her anguish was palpable, and Maia couldn't help it; she reached out of a sudden and brought the poor thing close, embracing her gently as the Undead sobbed into the mage's shoulder. At this close proximity, Maia didn't catch much in the way of decay, but the woman was frail under rags and skin, and she was indeed a Forsaken; no heart beat in that sobbing chest.

A few moments later, Maia had lit the bonfire before her house, in a firepit dug out in the center of her yard. Sitting on a low bench, wrapped in a blanket across from her, the woman told her that her name was Jensen Hollowell, and she hadn't been dead very long.

"...woke up in a crypt about a week ago," she said softly, eyes lost in memory and vague horror. "I thought it was a nightmare, and then maybe a mistake..." She looked down at her hands, at the dirt and cracked nails.

"I had to claw my way out," she whispered. "Through splinter and wood and dirt and turf... And when I finally broke free, I was helped up by a kind man who had a hole rotting through his cheek." A shudder rippled through her. "I apologized later for the screaming and weeping, but it was hard to a-a-accept... He said that I was safe, and I could have a new life now that I'd left the old one behind... But when he realized that I remembered everything from my past life..." Jensen shook her head. "He looked so sad, and so helpless. It's fairly unsual for a Forsaken to remember so much, he'd said, but when it does happen ..." Her voice trailed off.

Maia could only assume.

But Jensen continued, clearing her throat. "I remembered who I was. I knew my name, I knew where I lived, what I'd been." She held up a hand, a gold band glistening on her finger. "I was a widow and a new mother, for one ...and a scholar, for another." Her smile was sad, almost bitter.

"I practically lived in the library, among the books and the words of teachers and scholars before me. I was enchanted with the history of our world, of the cultures that make it what it was and is, what the people were and who they've become now. Stormwind has one of the best libraries for the research I wanted to do, and some of the greatest archeologists in the world live there and study on their own, with even more in Ironforge, made so easily accessible by the tram." Her expression grew pained. "Traveling there... I wanted to move closer to the books and the words and the great teachers, and Thomas... my husband ... he indulged me, and decided to move us from our little farm. It was ... and then on the way we ... he died and..."

Maia felt her own tears threaten her vision, but she remained quiet, simply listening.

The Forsaken woman went on, her voice faint. "Then it left just Adelle and I... She was still so small, but I'm smart, I did well, I wrote several articles and a whole book on the evolution of languages in the Dwarven territories within a year of moving to the city. They gave me a scholarship, and a stipend. I bought a house, I had a nanny for my girl..." Her voice trailed off as she seemed to remember the soft joy of stability.

"A few months after that," she continued, "I was picked to be a part of the expedition to the Hinterlands, to catalogue artifacts and do research for my thesis-"

Her eyes glazed over. "The last thing I remember was digging in the grass near Jintha'alor. I... I think there was a loud noise, or a crash... And then..." She choked, her arms wrapping around herself.

"And there's _no one left!_" she wailed, her control finally worn away. "My baby, my Adelle... she's alone! And she's so small, she's barely two... _I don't know where they'll send her, where she'll be... _And she'll grow up alone, and she won't _know_ how much I wanted to be with her, to share the world, to tell her the true stories of this place, of how it all adds up to her and what she'll be and where we come from-" She covered her face with her hands, crying uncontrollably, her grief overwhelming her.

Maia put an arm around the wretched woman, tears streaming down her own face as she pressed her cheek to the limp sable hair. She crooned softly, closing her eyes and rocking gently.

Several long moments later, the poor thing had calmed to quiet trembling, her bony hands gripping Maia's warm, fleshy one. When at last she could control her voice, she made her plea.

"I need... _I need your help_."

The mage had suspected as much. She stayed silent, waiting.

Jensen took this as encouragement, and pressed on. "Illusions can be wound into objects like an enchantment," she whispered. "They can travel with the wearer and make them impervious to attempts at dispelling magic, so that they are all but what they seem... Even if the wearer cannot do magic or spells..."

Maia winced. "I'm sure someone knows you're dead," she argued gently. "If you go walking through those gates asking for your daughter-" She stopped when Jensen began to violently shake her head.

"Oh no, no I do not mean to take her, or to go in a visage of myself." She bit her bottom lip. "No, lady-mage... I want to be with her, to _hold_ her again..."

Jensen took a long, slow moment, closing her eyes. "But I understand," she whispered. "I know what I am, and for her to have a future... No. I mean only to kiss her and s-say g-...good-bye..."

The grief washed over Maia like a damp blanket, and she closed her heart against it, just a little, enough to think through what this woman was requesting of her.

Like puzzle pieces falling into place, she thought of what she needed and what she needed to accomplish to make what this woman wanted her to. She thought of materials, of time, and lastly, of cost.

But still...

"You know it's suicide, don't you," Maia murmured softly, patting Jensen's worn knuckles. "Even though my little trinket is resistant to the reveal-enchantments worn by the guards, it's not completely fool-proof, and if your child is where I think she is, that's practically the heart of the city." Sadness crept into her voice. "You won't make it out alive."

A change swept over her companion. The frail shoulders lowered, spine going straight and rigid, and Jensen lifted her chin. Her gaze fierce and blazing, she said nothing and simply met Maia's eyes with her own.

A moment passed. Then Maia nodded.

"Alright then." She cleared her throat. "Now, the sordid topic of cost..."

Jensen grimaced, her posture sagging again. "Oh, lady... I don't have much to offer by way of coin, but if it's within my ability, I will do anything you ask..." she pleaded softly.

Maia had suspected as much, and knew it was likely the case before she'd even brought it up. It didn't matter; the cost of the item wouldn't be in money, but in time. A fortnight at least, to mine and smelt and refine and cast...

Chewing on her lip, she leaned back and gazed into the fire, contemplating the task before her. She honestly didn't mind doing it for free; the craft and practice itself was worth it, and with the reason behind it as well... It was dangerous, if she was caught, there would be no way to explain it away, but her heart went out to this woman, and she wanted to give her the ability to see her baby one last time.

_And I doubt she's lying_, she thought. _She's fresh up from the soil and as frail as a dead leaf. If she's up to something, there's power aplenty in Stormwind to stop _... She looked at the Forsaken again. Maia was fairly good at judging character, and most mages had the ability to sense truth or lies. This woman's emotions rang true, and her words and memories blazed painfully behind her eyes.

Maia made her decision, and opened her mouth give her assent.

But then, like lightning, a thought struck her. She blinked, going over the woman's story again.

_...Maybe this isn't what it seems to be..._

Jensen, watching Maia's eyes go very wide with some kind of excitement, got suddenly quite nervous.

"What, my la-?" she began, but the mage cut her off.

"Jensen," she said, struggling to control herself. "I am going to offer you a trade, but first..." She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving the Undead's face. "I need to ask you a question, and depending on the question, I will tell you what I want in payment. Will you listen to me, and tell me honestly if it can be done?"

Jensen, her turn to widen her eyes, nodded mutely.

Maia inhaled slowly, chosing her next words very, very carefully. "This... is not some simple enchanted ring or a spell bound to metal," she said slowly. "I have none of the material required, I don't keep it around because it tends to muck the energy of other pieces have around, if it's too close. It could take me two weeks to find everything and get it ready, and then a day or two after that to complete it.

"But." Her eyes never left Jensen's face. "As soon as it's complete, I will open a portal to Stormwind myself, and take you there with me, your guise in place." Maia paused. "Can you wait that long?"

Raw, unfettered joy contorted Jensen's face, making it a near-frightening thing to behold. "Yes," she hissed. "Oh yes."

Maia searched the woman's expression, then nodded. "Then this is what I need from you."

And so she asked her question, very carefully, slowly, and with deliberate meaning. After, she simply wait, letting her words sink in.

_The real issue,_ Maia thought, watching Jensen consider this offer, _is the matter of having enough time._

For nearly two minutes of solid silence, Jensen made a decision of her own.

"You understand," she said, "That what I know is very, very old. It won't be exa-"

"But will it work?" Maia interrupted.

Jensen's look hardened with a little bit of pride. "It will work, and, of course, make it easier for you in the long run, should you wish to follow through into the current inflections."

"And the time...? Will it be enough?"

Jensen's smile was almost rueful. "That, my lady," she said, "Is entirely up to you."

Maia didn't hesitate; she offered her hand. "Then you are my guest," she said. "If the terms are agreeable, of course."

Jensen paused for only a fraction of a second, before clasping Maia's hand with her own.

"Very well," she said, relief in her voice. "A fortnight from now, I will have what I need?"

Maia nodded and squeezed. "Yes, give or take a day. And until then..."

Now it was Jensen's turn to nod. "Until then, my lady," she gave a small bow over their clasped hands. "I am your humble servant."


	9. Illusions, Feathers, and Red Dirt

Maia tightened the straps of Sun-Iron's harness, checking to make sure the saddle-bags were buckled shut and secure. Filled with ore, they were an afterthought for the large, rust-colored proto-drake, but she made sure they were evenly weighted on both sides. .

"Ironforge has all kinds of knooks and crannies for you to perch in, and the place is bloody warm enough for you," she murmured to the drake. "Once you get there, if you arrive before me, just find a place to settle in for a while." She rubbed a shoulder affectionately. "If the straps get itchy or you eat too many of the goats, the Great Forge is in the center of the city; they'll know who I am." She tapped the identification plate at the front of Sun-Iron's chest, the polished mithril gleaming. "They'll unload you and smelt the metal and charge me when I come to pick it up."

The drake grunted, butted her nose against Maia's hand, and, after recieving a good scratch or three, shifted on her legs, backed up a few yards, then launched herself into the air. Maia watched the creature claw for height, sunlight flashing across scaled flanks, before Sun-Iron dissappeared into low clouds.

The portal to Stormwind shimmered in the air behind her, and she and Jensen made their last preparations and traded their final words; once they stepped through (at delayed intervals), they would no longer acknowledge each other. Jensen wanted to minimize her association with Maia as much as possible, to keep the mage's risk to a minimum.

"Ready?" Maia asked in a subdued yet cheery tone, looking to her companion.

Jensen handed her a familiar, leatherbound book.

"Here," Jensen said, her altered voice sounding strange to Maia's ears. "All the notes from the past two weeks. Just in case." Her smile, even on this face, was so very sad.

Maia had done her best to convince the Forsaken that her new life may not be so bad, but the sanity in Jensen's eyes would wear thin in those moments, and Maia had stopped. The mage didn't blame her; if she were stuck in a dead body, forced to work _with_ the creatures they'd been taught all their life to hate...

Jensen had thrown herself into the task Maia set for her, ignoring everything else. She spent as much time around the mage as Maia could stand, and given her _own_ drive, that was fairly often. They both bent all of themselves into what needed to be done. And despite the stressful circumstances, in the time they'd been made to dwell together they'd almost become friends. It was hard for Maia to not feel sympathetic to Jensen, and it was impossible for Jensen to not feel some sort of relief and gratitude towards Maia.

The bracelet Maia made was simple in its appearance, the metal a blue-gray, the sigils of the spell that carried the illusion carved on the inside, pressing against Jensen's skin. It glimmered mutely on her wrist as she offered the slim tome to the mage.

"Not that you'll need it," Jensen added, pulling her hood up around her head. "You were right; you are a very, very fast learner."

Maia flipped through a few pages, taking in the neat writing, the wonderful organization. Despite Jensen's faith, the mage was still worried she hadn't learned enough in the two weeks she'd had. She was thankful that her hands knew what to do while her mind took in Jensen's lessons, soaking up knowledge like a sponge while she smelted, cast, and forged.

Jensen paused before the portal, letting Maia give the illusion one last look-over. The Forsaken looked nothing like the wretched creature that Maia had first met; the enchantment on the bracelet worked better than either of them had hoped. Instead of the near-white pallor and the lank blue hair, Jensen's skin was now a bronzed cream, her brown hair neatly plaited to swing to her waist. Her eyes were a soft gray, her build softer, rounder than her starved-looking, angular lines.

In short, she looked completely different from her living, and now Undead form.

The effect was perfect; she was pretty but unremarkable, normal and harmless-looking to the casual eye.

Jensen shouldered her large knapsack; what was in it, she hadn't told Maia, and Maia decided she didn't want to know. The Forsaken woman had a plan as far as how she wanted to 'end things', and if she didn't share this information, Maia would never have to pretend... Just in case Jensen and Maia were ever linked together.

It was a little awkward, the final farewell. Eventually, Maia gave in and gave the other woman a quick embrace.

"I hope you find your daughter ... and that you find your peace," she said softly. Jensen didn't respond at first, simply nodding.

"Thank you, Maia," she said at last. "I hope you find what you're looking for, too."

* * *

By the time Maia stepped through into the mage tower of Stormwind, Jensen was gone. The idea was for Maia to linger long enough to make sure the guise held true, and then after that she could go where she pleased. She had every intention on checking in on her sister before turning heel and departing for Ironforge.

It was raining here; she heard the tell-tale patter against the roof of the tower, and paused at the large, green, glowing exit-portal to pull the hood of her cloak over her hair. As she did so, she caught a waft of conversation from the portal-trainer nearby.

_That's odd,_ Maia thought. _She sounds almost hysterical..._ Anxiety twinged at her; did they already see through Jensen's disguise? Discreetly, she fussed with the fold of her robes, eyes downcast, her head tilting to catch the words.

"-gone! And it isn't just Dalaran, word has it that Shattrath is also effected by the flux of energy," the woman exclaimed excitedly. "I've made more money in the last two months than I have in over a year! I'm telling you, as inconvenient as it is for the rest of the world, the failing portal-hubs have us mages reaping the benefits! And even today," she continued, the man she spoke to looking dumbfounded at the news. "_Thirty-nine_ portals. Thirty-nine! And it isn't even noon yet-!"

Maia blinked. The portals in the other cities weren't working? Dalaran _or_ Shattrath? But that would mean-

Her eyes went wide with sudden realization.

_That was why I haven't heard anything from- I mean, at the very least, he would have come back to chew me out for shoving him into the Outlands!_

And then she did what she tried so hard not to; she made a rash decision, and damned all the consequences.

Without looking (she hoped) like she was in a sudden hurry, Maia left the tower and headed towards the bank. She withdrew a small fortune from her account and the various items she'd need to travel; this included her better mage-robes, her weapons, and several stacks of magical reagents for her more practical spells.

The portal-trainer had been right; the busy square of the great human city was awash with people, and she was asked no less than twelve times if she could open a portal for gold. Each time she did it, she marveled at how handy it was to be a mage; she never had to worry about the weeks of travel that everyone else had to now.

_If only my teachers could see me now, _she thought ruefully, tracing a portal to Exodar in the air. _My illustrious education is now serving my faction as a form of public transportation._

After the last portal, she ducked into the inn across from the bank and rented a room, paying in advance; it wouldn't matter if she didn't check out, so long as she was gone by tomorrow afternoon. Alone, finally, she intoned the words of Teleportation, her mind focused on the Outlands, to the city of Shattrath, where she had unknowingly stranded her unlikely saviour.

* * *

_Gracious gods, but I fucking hate this place_.

A week ago, Maia had arrived at Shattrath to a cold trail and a mountain of anxiety. Inquiries had told her that yes, a hunter matching Koda's description had been here, and no, he hadn't left by portal. Apparently, mages weren't too keen on the Outlands at the moment, and he was unable to find one the several days he'd been there. The Draenai had noted his outstanding height and foul temper; Koda had sworn all over this city, looking for a way back that didn't include the days and days of travel it would take to get to the enormous portal clear across the Hellfire Penninsula.

According to the flight master, a very tall, lanky, grumpy blue-skinned Troll with white hair had purchased a mount and flown Northward to Ancestors-know-where.

It was at that point that the momentum Maia had built up faltered a little bit. While everyone here remembered the hunter with the bad attitude, no one knew what had gotten his leather pants in a wad. But she knew why, and she knew that it also meant he hadn't understood what she was trying to do.

_He was battle-blazed and furious to boot_, she thought. _I'm starting to think Trolls don't soak up much intellectually in those beserker moments of theirs._

So she decided she needed to follow him. Probably another rash decision. _No, most assuredly a rash decision. But I have to fix this. _

And then, like before, her heart spoke up:

_I have to find him._

Now she was here, in this land of red soil, endless stars and crazed orcs. The Hellfire Penninsula was nobody's favorite place, least of all Maia's. She missed her ocean, she missed her Worgen-infested woods, and she missed her cozy little home at the far end of no where and beyond all complications.

She'd left the Temple of Telhamat that morning, and while it was almost impossible to tell day from night in this wretched hell, her stomach was telling her it'd been a while since last she'd eaten. So it was, staring out across the cracked, jagged landscape, mounted on a cerulean hippogryph that pecked into the dirt like a giant chicken, Maia saw the tell-tale sign of red-tented roofs and crude, sturdy structures.

_That has to be Thrallmar_, she thought, shading her eyes against the sudden blaze of errant energy that skipped through the atmosphere overhead.

_It looks like they're in about as good a shape as Honor Hold, scrounging through wreckage and waste for enough material to build decent fortifications. _Idly, she tallied the buildings and examined the walls, wondering if _this_ outpost was where Koda had gone, and, possibly, might still be.

As she had traveled, she'd heard at village and outpost alike that things had changed, that the universe itself had seemed to have shifted. The portals, the magics, talk of raging elementals and a sundered Azeroth... Honor Hold had sent messengers back to every Alliance friendly waystation she'd been through, conscripting soldiers and citizens alike to join the defenses on the penninsula. It seemed to Maia that the last Alliance outpost was running out of resources, and not because they were sending them back home.

Maia often felt too ashamed to ask questions, scrounging up the little she knew by accident and plain old eavesdropping, almost completely in denial at just how far she'd stuck her head into the metaphorical sand. It scared her too, deep within, that so much had happened without her knowing about any of it. Slowly, she began to wonder if maybe it wasn't so wise to be a bystander in the goings-on of the world, especially when it was the world that seemed to be falling apart and rending asunder.

She shook her head against the thought, rooting herself back in the here and now. She focused on the Horde outpost in the distance, chewing at her bottom lip.

_I can't just walk in and knock_, she thought, her brow furrowing. _I mean, I don't even know if he's there_.

She glanced overhead, pondering the clear skies. She thought a little longer, then dug her heels into the side of her mount. Launching upwards, teal-feathered wings beating hard and slow, she gained height quickly, guiding the hippogryph towards Thrallmar. Scouting from above might be a little futile, but it would give her an idea or two as far as how to enter unnoticed and then leave again. Her memory drug up the incantation for the invisibility spell, and she mentally recited the syllables as she began to nudge her mount into a wide, lazy circle high above the outpost.

With a shock like a kick to the spine, a javalin the width of her wrist impaled her bird through the chest, its steel tip erupting through the saddle and ripping into her thigh. A sharp scream burst from her and before she could comprehend what had just happened, she and her bleeding mount were dropping like stones to the penninsula floor.

Seconds before impact, Maia gripped empty air and gasped a single word, relief flooding through her as the Feather-fall spell caught her and held, letting her drift slowly downward. Her poor bird she could do nothing for, and she watched as it continued to plummet, landing far below in a cloud of feathers and dust.

Belatedly, she looked around as she descended slowly, searching for her attacker, pressing her hands against her bleeding leg as she did so. Despairing, she saw them: two large dire bats diving towards her, their orc-riders bearing down with more of those huge, wicked-looking spears. One of them, a green-skinned female, barked something, tossing a tangle of ropes to the male orc riding the other bat. A flash of laughter and he grinned, shaking out the ropes with a quick flick of his wrist: it was a net.

Wildly, Maia looked down, judging herself to be too high to cancel the spell without breaking something important, like her neck.

_Stupid, stupid woman! _she screamed at herself. _Of course they'd have flying patrols! What the _hell_ was I thinking? _

She couldn't run, let alone stand, and if she Blinked away, she'd just be immobile a little further ahead of them.

_And I can't fight two Horde-riders or stall them long enough to drag myself someplace defensible._

Caught by her own magic, drifting down as lazily as a leaf, she knew it was over. Blood was seeping between her fingers, and she wondered if they'd managed to clip the femoral artery.

_Which means I'm dead anyway._

Resigning herself to whatever the future held, she lifted her chin to stare at her soon-to-be captors as she quickly wrapped her belt around her thigh, yanking it tight. As they swooped down, cackling, she forced her eyes to stay open, their grins burning into her vision as the butt of a large javalin knocked her unconscious.

* * *

Hands and ankles bound, Maia bit her lip and refused to give in to the desire to scream.

They hadn't killed her, thankfully, and they were in fact trying to heal her. But not by magics, oh no; apparently, it'd cost too much energy to heal one human female. No, they were doing it the old fashioned way, with needles, thread, poultices and bandages.

_The least they can do is get me drunk first_, she thought desperately. But again, she wouldn't be so lucky; deprived of food or water, Maia's resources were non-existent. She couldn't have Teleported herself out of a wooden crate at this point.

Finally, the Tauren surgeon finished his work, thick fingers binding her thigh in tight, well-made bandages. Maia closed her eyes when he tugged the dressing, feeling the blood leave her face as the world swam a moment. And then-

With a stream of curses, the Orc guarding the whole procedure jumped back, narrowly missing the stream of vomit that landed where he'd been standing a second before. The Tauren laughed as he stood up, and said something to the Orc. The Orc sneered, kicking red dirt into Maia's face, and spat at the iron walls of her cage.

Unknown to her at first, the Orc-riders tipped their javalins with poison, making their weapons an effective way to capture prisoners for interrogation and the like. She'd gathered from the nasty poultice that had been tucked against her wound that it was meant to draw out said poison, rather than being given an antidote outright.

_They must be stalling for time_, she thought weakly, rolling over to her side, cheek pressed against earth and stone. _They don't know what to do with me._ She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, watching a few figures converse not far away. _Yet._

They'd taken all of her gear, stripped her dead mount and her person of anything useful. Despite her dire predicament, Maia was absurdly irritated at their possession of her sword; the blade was a sweet one, and had cost her dearly in blood, sweat, and time. The rational side of her brain understood this to be a sign that she was going into shock due to bloodloss and dehydration, but she was too tired to fight it all.

For the fifth time since she'd been stuffed in this coffin of a cage, she tested her bonds again, flexing her hands where they were tied behind her back. She suspected the moisture she was feeling came from all the wriggling she'd been doing; the rope was abrasive and edged with steel, making it impossible to cut or fray conventionally. Before she'd been too tired to focus, she had noticed that the cage was built a little like a kennel used for large pets, like felines or dogs. The front of the cage swung open like a door, with solid hinges (much to her frustration) and a massive lock.

But the back of the cage was a different matter altogether, and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end when she realized what it could mean.

Instead of hinges or pins, the back wall of the cage wasn't a wall at all, but another kind of door. From above, a person could unlock and pull upward, effectively opening the kennel without getting in the way or standing behind it. They could, for example, press the open door of another cage to the back of Maia's, lift the divider and let whatever was out, in, all without endangering anyone outside of the container or giving the mage much of a chance to either wedge the gate shut or escape.

It helped nothing that bits of bloody tissue, dried flesh and various bodily chunks were left clinging to the iron bars that made up her cage. She tried not to look at the large dire Worgs the soldiers in Thrallmar used as mounts, or the more savage, feral looking pets of the few hunters she'd seen.

With a stifled whimper, she curled up into a ball, pressing her face to her knees; of all the things Maia had faced, out of every fear she'd seen and conquered, she did not think she had it in her to meet her end with dignity if it meant being eaten alive. She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of anything else. Maybe if she just rested for a moment...

"Human."

A voice like gravel, angry and disgusted, intruded on her little mental breakdown. She did her best to open her eyes and shift into a semi-upright position, looking up.

It was hard not to stare; the Orc was as huge and powerful as his brethren often were, a fierce expression of distaste on his face. His regalia, crowned with a large cloak made of an entire wolf's skin complete with a lupine head, teeth and upper mouth framing his angry scowl, marked him as a person of authority and importance. After a few moments of simply gaping, a sharp clang heralded a kick to her bars, and she flinched backwards.

"You will _answer_ me when I address you, _human_," the Orc growled. He made the last word sound like something obscene.

Licking lips that had gone dry, tasting blood and feeling grit, Maia cleared her throat. "Y..yes...?" she managed weakly.

His eyes narrowed. "I am the commander and guardian of Thrallmar." He lifted a familiar object to Maia's gaze, and snarled. "You will tell me what _this_ is."

It was Jensen's notebook. Fear settled into the pit of Maia's throat, and she knew she was doomed.

_They are never going to understand why a human has a book full of notes on archaic Troll, specifically a dialect of Zandali that's the closest to the modern dialect...At least, not for anything as innocent as peaceful communication.  
_

Maia closed her eyes, convinced of this, wondering what to do. She was beginning to regret the deal she made with Jensen after all. Despair soon followed, and she cursed herself for ever thinking this was a smart idea.

Jensen had written the book as a primer, with both Common and ancient Zandali, translated and explained in the most organized, simplest why she could construct in so little time. It had helped, writing the book while she taught Maia, it helped her recall what she'd forgotten and lay out all her lessons in proper order, easy enough for the mage to access for mental refreshment.

Weighing her options, Maia opened her eyes, staring up at the waiting Orc.

She licked her lips again, and replied, "I don't know. I found it in the Dwarven lands several weeks ago." She shrugged a litte. "I thought it was interesting. Please... let me go? I didn't mean to trespass, I swear-"

_Let him think me vapid and dumb_, she thought. _Maybe his prejudice runs deep enough to dismiss worse suspicions. _

He said nothing for a long while, simply contemplating her answer. Eventually, he pocketed the primer, saying simply, "I do not believe you." Then he turned and walked away.

Maia pressed her brow to the rough iron grate, perversely relieved he hadn't questioned her further.

Travelers came and went, and with her cage near the stable at the main gate she saw most of them at first. But as the hours wore on and the days blended together, all she wanted to do was sleep. She was still given no food and little more than a trickle of water, bound in place with only her wounds tended to, exhaustion the only thing to temper the ache in her belly and the throbbing gash in her thigh. Otherwise, they did not mistreat her, and she was mostly left alone.

The Orc commander gave her a chance to repent every morning. He would ask her what the book was for, and she would stick with her lie, though she was tempted to start making up a different story for every time he asked. She had no intention of telling the truth, as it would probably be taken with just as much credibility as her lie at best, and at worse they'd believe her and insist on Koda's name. That alone was enough to keep the truth to herself.

She thought at first that her irrational protection of Koda was what summoned his face across the distance of Thrallmar's fortifications, attached to the body of a large Troll clothed in dark red leathers, a monstrous yet elegant black bird perched on his shoulder, its beak high above his head. The effect made him look mythical, like a diety to an ancient culture that worshiped lean, blue-skinned hunters who bore ebony avians as tools of their will. The thought made her smile, and the memory of his lithe body swam behind her eyes, with his sensual mouth and cunning eyes.

But when she looked again, just to prove to herself that she was a fool, his face was still there.

Even more, he was looking right at her with an expression of complete disbelief.


	10. The Hairpin Break Out

Maia woke from an exhausted doze with a start. She was leaning sideways against the door of the cage, feet tucked under her, cheek and shoulder pressed against the bars with the later numb from her hands being bound behind her back for days.

Bleary eyes opened as she wondered what had awoken her, going stiff when she heard her cage shift, the sides flexing from side to side; something heavy and large was on top, and she suspected that its sudden arrival was what had roused her.

She remained still, adrenaline burning off a little of her exhaustion, holding her breath as she strained, listening. A ribbon of light and fire darted across the expansive, star-strewn sky, illuminating her prison, sending shadows dancing across the dirt. It was this that gave the answer; by the silhoutte cast across the ground beside her cage, there was a person crouched above her, hunched over with large shoulders, elbows braced on squatting knees, and a head crowned with a large, feathered mohawk. As she watched, her eyes wide, the dark figure seemed to lean over, and she heard a voice hiss.

"Ya be in a bit of a tight spot, mon. S'no good when yer stuck in the middle o'no where, no way out, no place to go. I think I know a bit how that feels, mm?"

Maia closed her eyes and released her held breath in a long, weary sigh. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, and she didn't want to insult his intelligence by stating the obvious, but the barest hint of hurt in his voice was draining the last bit of energy she'd had left.

The silence was allowed to stretch from moments into minutes.

"What be ya doin' here?" Koda asked at last, quietly.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she whispered, her voice a shadow of what it was, her mouth dry, her throat sore.

More silence.

"I heard about that book o'yours," he said, his words edged with impatienc. "S'not a bad bit of work, if I say so. Be a good bit in the way o'teachin' folks about Trollspeak. Zandali ain't easy to learn, not like Common," he snorted. "A few of the officers in the Horde that _are_ Troll are very, very curious as to why a little bit o'human like yourself be havin' this knowledge, written down an' so very easy use. It be dangerous, that kind of information, especially in the wrong kinda hands." Her cage creaked as he leaned over further; she could see a few slender braids peek over the edge. "So I wanna know, little brownskin: why is it that ya _had_ this?"

There was a thump, and a cloud of dust on the ground by her prison. It was Jensen's notebook.

Maia felt the despair sink in a little further; she should have known better than to follow her passions. Tharrah always said it would just lead her to trouble, and it looked like her sister was right.

"Eh?" Koda grunted. "What was that?"

She realized she'd been thinking out loud and bit her lip to silence herself, resigning to stay in that silence if she could no longer control her mouth.

A few more moments passed, and it seemed Koda realized this as well. He hopped down onto the ground behind her, saying, "The commander wants to know, mage, an' he will be gettin' the answers he wants from ya, whether ya want to give them or n-"

His voice cut off, and she shifted on her hip, turning her head a little towards him. _Is he still there?_ she wondered, as the silence stretched on.

A creak of leather told her he was indeed still there, and the musky scent of him told her that he was crouching very, very close to her.

His voice, a sharp contrast to his snappish sarcasm from moments before, was soft, barely a whisper: "Woman. Why be ya _here_?"

She felt pressure on the shoulder she had pressed against the door, and it took her a second to realize that he was touching her. She held her breath, stubborn and willful, determined to keep her silence.

But then he cheated.

"_Maia_." A shudder rippled through her; his breath feathered against her cheek and brushed her ear. She exhaled shakily, closing her eyes again. "Tell ol' Koda why you're here, an' why ya had that damned book with ya." His voice was so hushed it would have been impossible to hear if he hadn't bent so close, his lips practically pressing against the iron.

Breathing deep and willing herself to do so slowly, she struggled to gather her thoughts. What should she say? Should she tell him the truth? Would he believe her? Why should she even bother?

_Damn it all to hell_, she thought, exasperated. _If I'm going to die here anyway, I want _someone_ to know the truth. _She bit her lip, fear settling cold and deep within her, that last bit of hope draining away. _Even if he doesn't believe me. _

Even so, she also wanted him to understand what she'd done, too, before he left her to her fate. Shifting against her cage, she licked her lips and did her best to clear her throat.

"I came here," she whispered, "to find you, and to get you home."

Koda said nothing.

"I didn't know the permenant portals weren't working," she continued, seizing her chance to set the record straight. "I just wanted you to be safe, and away, and Shattrath was the only place I could send you without... without you being killed on sight. Or easily followed." She shifted again, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through her shoulder, her wrists wedged between her back and the bars of her cage. "They thought ... They thought you and the other Troll were in league with other, that you'd lured me into the hidden market to attack me-"

He spat out a nasty curse, and Maia knew enough of the language to flinch at the meaning.

"They didn't know," she sighed. "They didn't know you weren't of his tribe, and I had no way to prove that you weren't either, or that you were trying to protect me..."

This was the most she'd spoken in days, and it was taking a toll on her. She licked her lips again, eyes closing as she continued.

"As for the book..." Again, she sighed, weary to the bone. "I did a ... a favor for a friend, and she couldn't pay me in money, so she paid me with knowledge instead, and she wrote the book as a way for me to continue learning." She pondered, then, at how much she should explain. "I wanted ... I needed..."

_How do I even _say_ this?_

While she struggled to put her thoughts in some kind of order, there was a little bit of commotion at the main building. _It must be midnight_, she thought. _They're changing shifts..._

Her attention came back to Koda, as he finally came into her view. He bent over the lock at her door, something glinting in his fingers, concentrating on it. Maia frowned, a memory tugging at her as she watched him.

_That's... I know what that is. That's..._

An image flashed through her head, of her frantically cutting her hair and stuffing it into his palm before shoving him backwards; a hairpin tangled in her severed tress, of crystal and black faceted jet-

The lock clicked and the door sprang open. Koda caught her as she toppled supportless and sideways, using a free hand to jam the hairpin into the mechanism on her side of the door. Glancing backwards while he worked, he gathered her against him and slung her over his shoulder, and she bit her lip to keep from shrieking as his dagger dug into her bandaged thigh.

The change in position after being crammed in that pen for so long sent blood flowing to all parts of her that she'd ceased to feel days ago, and it did not feel comfortable. Her head swam as it hung upside down, the pins-and-needles tingling in her shoulders graduating to daggers-and-shards-of-glass within a matter of seconds. Everything below her hips experienced a similar effect, though not nearly as intense. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself into silence lest she give them away.

With a grunt, Koda threw Maia over something warm and large; she heard a rustle of leather wings and a reptillian croon. In her blurry vision, she saw scarlet scales under her cheek, before nausea had her closing her eyes again.

Time passed, and she couldn't say how long, before she felt him leap up and tuck himself behind her, rolling her over and pulling her to him, her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, a rapid, steady sound, and opened her eyes once more.

He was pulling at the reins of his mount with his free hand, the other holding her close and steady against him. He hissed a word (she was fairly certain it translated as both 'up' and 'quiet' in Zandali), and with a stealthy leap, she felt the world fall away.

She didn't question the change of fate, or her good luck, because she was too weary to even consider it. With a tired sigh, she shamelessly squirmed against her Troll, rubbing her cheek to his shoulder as she curled into him. _Let him think what he likes_, she thought distantly, feeling him go still and silent as she moved. _I think I'm beginning to care less what he thinks about this..._

More at ease than she had been in weeks, Maia finally let herself drift away, letting the true sleep of absolute trust envelope her.

She dreamed of red dirt and an endless field of stars, stretching below and above her as she floated between spheres. The air smelled of blood and restless magic, sparks crackling from her fingers and skipping along the strands of hair that curtained her face. She tried to move in this vision, but she was kept immobile, trapped in her body. Distantly, she heard the slow waft of wingbeats, and wondered if she was being carried by predator, or bourne on the back of some sacred bird to paradise.

Her dream shifted into green, and the world turned inside out in that familiar way it did when she stepped into a portal. It was enough to tip her mind back into the abyss, and she knew neither dreams nor reality for an unnumbered eternity.

* * *

There was a distant roar, like a crashing wave that never ended, pouring from the sky and pounding into the surf forever. The air was clean, fresh, and smelled of pine smoke, wet rock and moving water, clinging to her skin like mist made cloth.

It hurt to open her eyes, grit making her lashes stick together, the light that seeped through them almost blinding. She was laying on her stomach, her cheek against something soft, a blanket covering her from shoulders to feet. Pain stabbed through her head when she moved, and the throb from her leg coupled with it to tell her she was very much alive.

She groaned, clutching her head, fingers feeling tangled wet hair. Shifting, she tried to sit up, nausea rising to greet her in a rush, convincing her it was better to lay back down. It was then, covering her eyes with her hand, that she realized she was unbound and no longer caged.

She tried again to open her eyes under the shadow of her fingers, carefully peering out.

It appeared she was in a tent, a spacious structure of thick wooden beams and pale canvas, with a hole in the center of the high roof to let the smoke out. A pit had been dug out and lined with river stones, cradling wood that crackled cheerily, small flames licking across the surface. Besides the primitive hearth was a large flat stone, a knife sheathed atop it, bowls, cups, ladles and other eating utensils piled next to it. There were leathers stretched in wooden frames to be worked supple, leaning against the far wall, stacked back to back behind a pile of freshly cured skins, tanning tools scattered nearby. Several packs and satchels were neatly tucked away here and there, along with a few full quivers, two bows, and a large, wicked looking rifle.

Other than that, there was another sleeping area a little away from hers, made up neatly and unoccupied. She imagined it to be Koda's.

The light that had woken her was spilling through a window cut into the canvas, the excess fabric pulled back and pinned to the side. A mesh of open-weave, thin fabric was stretched across the opening, letting in air without letting in too many unwanted pests.

Completely unable to comprehend what had happened and how she'd gotten here, Maia's mind was completely blank. No panic, no hysteria, no questions, but also no acceptance. She was balancing on the edge a knife, silent but aware, poised and still.

She tried again to sit up, slowly, pushing her hands beneath her chest against the bedding, slowly lifting her head. She gasped, a wave of pain rushing through her temples, and her arms wavered beneath her weight.

"Careful, girl, you'll undo all the work I've done."

The low voice, familiar in sound but strange in tone, caught her off guard. She spun her head to see who had spoken, only to wake up face down, a calloused hand pressing against her bare back. In the darkness that peeled back from her spinning brain, memory crept back, and she recalled their escape.

"Stupid girl," she head him mutter, another hand brushing the hair back from her face. "I told you."

Koda's gray eyes were somber, his mouth set in an unhappy line as he pushed back her hair to lay across her shoulders instead of tangling around her throat. "I don't even understand how you manage with all this hair; it's liable to get caught, pulled, or set on fire, if you don't garrote yourself in your sleep..."

At first she was completely confused, hearing his words but not understanding how she knew what he was saying. With a start, she realized why: he was speaking Zandali.

"Where ... are we?" she finally whispered, using his tongue, twisting the syllables into obiesence.

The Troll's hands froze, his eyes focusing upon her gaze with an expression of ... well, an expression she couldn't place. He didn't respond as he settled to set cross-legged next to her, pushing her easily to her back as he pulled aside her blankets to expose her legs. The draft of air told Maia what she had neglected to notice earlier; she was quite naked.

Without understanding why, she jerked and gripped the blanket, keeping it in place and staring at him with wide eyes.

The shadow in his gaze lifted a little, an eyebrow arching in amusement. "Really?" he asked. "After all we've done, little Maia?"

_Why does everything he say sound different in his native tongue?_ she wondered, trying to focus on his words. Her ears rang, and she resisted the urge to stick her fingers in them. _Richer, coy... and some what..._ She got lost, looking for the word.

"I just... it's not that... Just answer my question," she replied, flustered.

Ignoring her feeble attempt to block him, Koda yanked aside her blanket and poked her in the thigh.

Pain, sharp, red, and very angry, flared through her leg and up into her hip, making her jerk again and grit out a very nasty swear word.

"We are in Stranglethorn, in the mountains near Zul'Gurub, " he murmured, using her sudden paralysis to loosen her bandages and ease them aside. Whatever he saw satisfied him, and he redressed the wound swiftly. "It's been three days since I accidentally broke open your cage, and accidentally made it look like you'd picked the lock with a rather sparkly hairpin they'd failed to take from you."

Maia blinked.

"I did not, I'm sorry to say, get all of your belongings," he continued, gesturing to a small pile of gear in the far corner of the tent, "but I thought you'd appreciate your life more than a few bags and baubles."

Maia's mouth worked a minute.

Before she punched him sharply in his well-muscled upper arm.

He grunted, eyeing her.

"You didn't accidentally do anything, troll," she mumbled, stating the obvious. "I was there, remember?"

His mouth twitched. "So you recall that?"

"I remember everything."

He moved to the fire and the pot above it, silent for a time as he checked the contents and stirred it. She watched him, noted the line of his back as he crouched before it, saw how hard he was thinking.

_We made lo- ... had sex for almost three days straight, have seen parts of each other that most folks haven't, and have indulged in a desire that would probably get us both burned at the stake. Why does it feel so awkward now, after all this?_

Her thoughts were interrupted when he turned back to her, bowl and spoon in hand, and Maia suddenly realized she was ravenous. Reaching for the food without thinking, she blinked at Koda as he drew it back. He nodded towards her hands, and she immediately understood; she couldn't be trusted to dress herself, let alone put food in her mouth, with the way her hands shook. She winced, looking at him askance.

There was no choice but to let him feed her, an act that had her blushing harder than anything he could have done to her. It was a kindness that he said nothing, patiently offering her spoonful after spoonful, waiting for her to chew before giving her more.

He picked up on her feelings of irrational humiliation, glancing at her cheeks and snorting at her expression.

"Don't be upset, mageling," he murmured, offering her a bit of cloth to dab at her chin with. "I've done the same thing with both my sisters, after they spat out fat, squalling babies. Two at once, three for one of them." He grinned at her. "Feeding the babes was easy, but themselves? Not at first."

He sat back on his heels while she mumbled her thanks, still unable to banish her shame. He leaned over to a pack near a tented wall, dug in it, and brought out a folded pile of garments. He set it by her bed, threw a towel over his shoulder, and held his arms out to her.

Again, she could do nothing but stare at him. After a moment, he gestured, arms still outstretched.

"You stink, brownskin, with ancestors' know what offal you humans excrete," he stated bluntly.

She colored darkly and swore at him. "I couldn't exactly _bathe_ let alone go any-"

Taking that as permission, the Troll scooped her up effortlessly, blankets and all, and strode from the tent.

Fearless that he wouldn't drop her, she didn't restrain her wriggling in the slightest, but was concered at how little she could actually flail. He seemed to sense it was mostly for show, said nothing, and continued on.

They were in a discreet bit of forest, camped besides a large pond fed by a healthy waterfall across the way. Large trees grew high and thick with foliage, intricate root systems exposed and partially submerged in the clear, blue water. The clearing that had the tent and living space seemed to be the only bit of flat land here, the lake bordered primarily by grass-covered cliffs and hill-hugging, thick-trunked trees strewn with vines.

Koda followed a path of stones the short distance to the water, to large boulders that rose above the waterline. Smooth from erosion, the rocks were nearly flat, large enough for a Troll to sunbathe on but no bigger. One had what looked to be a seat cut out of it, somewhat under water, and it was here he placed Maia, with all gentleness.

Ignoring her prostests, he plied wet blankets and bedding from her, even her bandages, saying nothing until she was completely naked. Then, without ceremony, her dumped a large bowl of water unto her dark head. While she spluttered, he did it again, and again, until her tangled hair was soaked and she was half-blinded by water.

He disappeared from her view a moment, though her soon had hair well in hand, with what seemed, to Maia's nose, lavender soap. He settled behind her, feet in the water, with her back wedged between his thighs. Wiping wet strands from her face, she glared at him over her shoulder.

"You're enjoying this," she accused, doing her best to ignore the hands that massaged her scalp, the back of her neck, and across the upper part of her shoulders... ..._ah..._ Against her best intentions, she felt herself begin to relax.

The grin he gave her was almost infectious, his gray eyes daring her as he gazed down his hooked nose. "I have no idea what gave you that idea, brownskin," he replied cheerfully. And then he lifted up a wicked looking haircomb with large teeth, carved in ivory.

Weak as she was, she put up a decent fight, trying to scramble away from further tortures.

He was still bigger than her, and her condition helped nothing. Soon enough, still dripping in soap and water beneath the beating sun, he kept her in place with his powerful legs, snickering softly as she winced, silent, beneath his patient grooming.

After what seemed like hours, and certain she probably had bald patches at this point, her thick, long hair was finally combed and clean for the first time in weeks.

He moved around to the front of her and drew her into the water, strong hands gripping hers as he guided her to him. The water made her bouyant, and soon she was up to her neck in the cool, clean lake. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight literally peel from the world, and let the Troll finish the job.

He scrubbed carefully at her arms, her belly, her legs, carefully to be professional around certain areas (much to her disappointment), and gentle especially around the healing hole in her thigh. Finally, he came to her throat, wrapping his large hands around it, rubbing gently with soap and calloused palms.

Oddly, it was one of the more intimate gestures she'd ever known from him at that point, and she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. Gray eyes half-lidded, generous, tusked mouth curved in a small smile. Without knowing completely why, Maia shivered; was it just her, or did the temperature of the lake water go up by a few degrees?

The moment passed, and, breeches still damp, Koda gathered the naked mage into the dry towel nearby, and carried her back to the tent. He dried her brusquely, rebandaged her, braided her hair ("...'m not going to waste all that hard work by letting you sleep with loose hair-"), and put her in a loose, comfortable cotton dress.

At this point, the sun was low and Maia was lethargic from food and bath, and could barely keep her eyes open as Koda helped her pull the sleeveless garment over her head. Drowsy and near drunk with exhaustion, she was having difficulty keeping her mouth shut.

"...thank you... don't know what I would've... an' I know you owe me noth-" Here she yawned. "...ing..." She rubbed at her eyes, and heard him chuckle from the child-like gesture.

She hadn't even realized she was no longer speaking in his language, but he didn't seem to mind, responding in Zandali: "Hush, brownskin," he said, laying her back down. She burrowed under the blankets he laid over her. "I didn't aid you to pay off a debt."

Maia yawned again, tucking her hands under her cheek, trying to focus on him; her heavy lids made it difficult. "Then... why...?" she mumbled.

The quiet that followed her question stretched on, and was soon filled by her soft, shallow breathing; a telltale sign of her true slumber.

For a long while, Koda said nothing, did nothing, looking down at the sleeping woman in his home, her much-leaner shape beneath the blankets, contemplating the pang of fear that echoed deep within him. As his eyes wandered across her lines, watched her breathing, his gaze was eventually drawn to her sleeping face, and the hands tucked beneath.

He looked at the bracelet she still bore, the only thing he did not remove from her when he had first peeled her filthy clothes from her. It shown pale; blue, red, and yellow matte-surfaced glass beads glowing faintly, reflecting lamp- and firelight.

He had seen it in the Outlands, the human wedged in her cage, arms bound cruelly behind her back. Never before had he cared about the treatment of Allied prisoners, for he knew they treated Horde-kind far worse, most of the time. He had expected his encounter with the woman to be a fluke, a random accident or some kind of revenge offered to him for his prompt banishment after what happened in the dregs of Dalaran City.

_Even though_, he thought, _I did know better. Somewhere._

His memory of that incident in the sewers was cloudy, tinged with fury and red mist and blood and a ferocity he'd never known he could feel in a Beserker-rage. The clearest memory was after, when he clutched the dark mageling to him and inhaled her living scent, she unharmed, the threat abated...

_And then kicked backwards into a port-broken Outland city-_

His irritation flared and melted swiftly, and he came back to the moment to find his hand on her wrist, his thumb stroking the braided bracelet, the rough beads.

He had seen it after he was relishing the predicament, and he had felt every last bit of hurt and anger drain from him in that single moment. At the time, he was stunned speechless; why had she still worn it? She had to have suspected what it meant, even if, at the time he'd given it to her, he'd done it more out of misplaced gratitude than anything else.

_Protection_, he thought. _It was a means of protection... a thank-you ... A sign that she was favored by one of the Zandalar._

And it would have granted her safe passage. Should have ... Except the Troll in the sewers was not whom that message was there for.

He stared at her again, the curves of her face more angular than last he remembered, and vowed to himself that he would not be so petty in the future.

Finally, he brushed her cheek, frowning to himself, and answered her question.

"What else would I have done, Maia?" he whispered, contemplating what the Spirits had in store of he and this strange bit of human.


	11. An Ocean of Questions

Author's note: Thank you so much for the encouragement, reviews, and excellent appreciation. I'm sorry it's been a while, but I had a big mental block when it came to this next chapter. The story is ongoing, inspired by things that happen in my life and conversations I have about the characters, their flaws and their personalities. THANK YOU for your patience! And please, keep reading and reviewing.

In case it's not obvious, I do not own Warcraft, any game associated with it or the stories therein. This store and characters within it are the only things that are mine.

* * *

"...find a new pet, Kodakai?"

Maia frowned, eyes still closed, consciousness barely kissing the surface of wakeful reality. She rolled over, pulling a blanket over her head.

_Too much sunlight_.

The voices, though, were impervious to cloth.

"Something like that." The hunter's voice was laced with amusement. "Barely tamed, poor thing. I think it might even have a bit of fever. Starved too; it lacks the build it had when I first encountered it."

_That_ popped her eyes open.

There was an indignant, feminine snort; the other Troll was definitely a woman. "Sounds too fragile for a decent hunting companion, if you ask me. But I know you, Kodakai; you make your selection very carefully." There was a thoughtful pause. "What's so special about this one, eh?"

The silence stretched on for almost a minute, and Maia sat up in the shadowed light of the yurt, careful and sore. She wondered if they'd walked away. But then he answered, his words soft:

"Powerful abilities, Taiba. And beautiful, a rare breed with very dark, lovely coloring. I couldn't resist, she stood out like a dark orchid amidst a field of lillies." The tone in Koda's voice was almost reverent; Maia found herself blushing furiously.

_He's talking about me like a captured asset, _ she thought. _And it's completely arousing. Gods _damn_ him. _

There was another snort, this one a little more appreciative. "I completely understand, then; your tastes are quite particular." There was more movement, rustling and the occasional grunt of effort. "Alright, that should help. The salve is for infection and scarring, this herb is for any fever that might arise, and these two are meant to be eaten with its usual food. That's the healing accelerant you asked for."

"Thank you, Taiba. Your concoctions are a marvel on my friends."

A third snort. "I'm tempted to charge you for more than money, Kodakai, with as often as you have me making housecalls without ever letting me _in_ your house..." _That_ was a tone Maia recognized; it was playful, flirtatious, and almost oily in its sexuality. She felt jealousy bubble in her chest, and she blinked, surprised at herself. The emotion was quickly stifled.

Koda chuckled, managing to sound abashed, flattered, and apologetic. "You'll have to forgive me this time, Taiba. All I can give you besides gold are leather goods and gratitudes."

The response was perfect. Taiba sighed and gave a soft laugh. "Fine then, have it your way, Koda. Don't think the other females haven't noticed; you're one of the finer catches in these parts. Watch your ass."

There was more laughter, both fading away as Maia presumed they'd wandered off.

Birdsong and splashing water reigned in the absence of words, and the mage simply basked in the peace of being free, unencumbered, and safe. Carefully, she rolled her shoulders and followed the slow, fluid motion into her elbows, and out her wrists. She flexed her fingers, held her hands up to see if they still shook.

_Steady as they've ever been_, she thought with a sigh of relief.

Satisfied, she pulled back the blankets and drew up the skirt over her bandaged thigh.

The wound was clean but sore, and a little pink around the edges. There was no pus or worrisome smells, and the flesh was healing. Still, it would leave a nasty scar.

Her vanity prickled at that, and she hated herself a little for it.

"I'm alive and out of that damned cage," she muttered angrily at herself, "and the first thing that pops into my head is 'ooh I'm going to have a scar'? Nice, Maia."

"Indeed," came the familiar, deep voice from the tent's entrance. "But don't worry. I have something that will fix that."

Koda strode in, tall and as beautiful as she remembered, trailed by a large, white-furred wolf. _No_, she thought, frowning at it. _A worg._

It was very large, but also very calm. Its lines and muscles were somewhat bulkier than that of its lupine cousin, carried with sleek, feline grace. It settled in the far corner of the tent, near Koda's bedding, and did its best to compact itself into as small a shape as possible.

Noting her interest, the Troll glanced at the creature and smiled. "That's Winter," he explained. "My oldest companion. My first. He's been keeping you warm when I've had to leave you alone."

As he settled next to her, sitting cross-legged while he dug into the bag in his hands, pulling out parcels, jars, and herb packets. "Taiba is the best animal healer in the jungle," he continued, ignoring her silence. "She's helped me stitch back creatures that were on the verge of death, healed broken hides into pristine smoothness, and tamed the most feral of beasts into calm, loving friends." That last bit he said with an impish smile, gray eyes sparkling.

Maia, who had started to blush at 'best animal healer', was near purple by the end of it, spluttering indignantly. "_Animal_ healer?"

His smile turned sweet and near-innocent. "I can't exactly have someone in my tribe actually look at you, can I? Or," he added, tugging her hands away from her unraveled bandage, "inquire as to the nature of human physiology while trying to pretend simple curiosity. Only a handful of people know where I live, and I have to travel to the Bay to get supplies I can't make on my own, let alone bring anyone back with me."

She'd completely ignored the fact that they were speaking in his language again; it seemed completely effortless to her now, archaic inflections and all.

"It's not that I don't trust you- OW!" she yipped as he smeared a goopy, oily salve that _burned_ against her wound. She grit her teeth as he continued to administer the medicine. "But... are you _sure_ it will work... the same-?" The curse that exploded from her was especially colorful and earned her a raised eyebrow from her self-promoted nurse.

Methodically rebandaging her as she hissed between her teeth, he replied, "The animals I've used this salve on have healed scarless, with flesh far more fragile and much fairer than yours." He bound it in place. "There. The burning should be passing now, yes?"

She nodded a little, feeling the tingle fade. "That will help the mild infection that's sprung up," he explained, "as well as do something about the scarring."

Sure enough, within days the wound had closed completely, new, pink skin stretched over the top of her thigh. Still sore and slightly atrophied, she could almost walk on it, though she knew she'd limp a long time after.

Everyday, Koda force fed her herbal medicines, teas, and rubbed that nasty salve into her skin. Understanding that he was helping her did nothing to stave off the burning, but it did help her deal with it better. A day or two after the scarring truly began to shrink, still pink and very tender, Koda insisted she attempt to walk on it.

"No!" she gasped, wavering on her one good leg, the other bent and loose, toes barely touching the ground. "It hurts like hell!"

Koda, who had been good-natured and near sweet up to that point, set his mouth in a grim line, gray eyes narrowing. With his tusks and feral, alien features, the expression was frightening. Maia swallowed dryly.

He didn't have to say a word.

Digging her fingers into his forearm, her other hand clasped in his, she put her foot carefully down, feeling muscles twinge as she pressed her heel to the grass.

It was a beautiful day. They were outside. The wind was blowing. She was certain she could smell the ocean nearby...

"Focus, mageling."

She snapped back to her task, giving Koda a dirty look as she renewed her grip on him.

Carefully, she tested the strength of her leg, gingerly putting more and more weight on it. Her teeth were digging into her lip, unbeknowest to her, and she waited for the warning jolt up her leg that told her it wouldn't hold. But as moment by moment passed, her leg held, her knee locked, and her muscles flexed painfully with renewed memory. She gasped, looking up at her friend with startled eyes.

He grinned at her.

"Now take a step," he told her.

She lifted her wounded leg.

"No," he insisted. "The other one."

Her eyes went wide but she didn't argue. Trembling with strange fear, she paused, balanced between her two legs. She bit her lip again.

"Maia." She looked up at him, startled by the sound of her name on his lips, as she always was. "The muscle won't stretch, it will stay angry and knotted and you will limp forever if you don't start using it. You have to do this. "

She didn't walk far that day, or the next, but when Koda told her about the ocean just over the cliffs, about the sand and the exposed cliff faces and the metal veins that were bound to be there... Well, she all but insisted they go to the beach that very day.

She knew it had been a thoughtful calculation on his part; he had seen her supplies in her home, though she didn't know if he'd explored her work area. It was a bit of a gamble; he didn't know how much she loved her craft.

He saw it soon enough. He had carried her on his back on the walk up to the ridge, standing there a moment as she inhaled the sea air and took in the sight of wave and surf, her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. Carefully, he made his way down the deep sand-stone steps he'd carved himself, the two of them lost in companionable silence as he held her.

It was one of those windy coastal days that she loved, wiping Koda's braids about his head, tickling the arms she had wound about his neck. The sand here was white, a stark contrast to the dark stone of the cliffs and the tempestuous sea. It smelled of salt and water, wet earth and green vegetation.

She tore her eyes from the endless waves when he said something the wind tossed away, but she followed his pointing arm to a bare granite rockface. Something caught the hazy sunlight, flashed at her even from this distance. She squirmed on his back, anxious, as he seemed to make his ever-slow way to the stone. She knew he did this on purpose; she could feel his chest rumble with laughter.

Close enough and excited, she dropped from him and waded slowly through the sand to the metal vein. She barely noticed the pain in her leg, only aware of the encumbering limp that slowed her. Excited fingers dug into the hair piled and pinned to the back of her head with Koda looking on, questioning, until he saw the tiny pick appear in her hand, and the small hammer in the other.

_Where were you keeping that?_ he mouthed at her, amusement in his eyes under his furrowed brows. She simply grinned at him, not bothering to give the blustering wind anymore words to steal. Her focus on the rock before her, she frowned in concentration as she tapped lightly with her little chisel, gouging out the precious bits of soft yellow metal.

_Gold_, she thought, a laugh bubbling from her, the sound bouncing around the little shelter of stone. Attention arrested, she lost all track of time wedging metal from the clench of earth, collecting several nuggets in a leather pouch. She couldn't stop smiling, and as she cinched the bag closed, she looked up to find him staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

They didn't return to the lake right away. Koda had brought a few nets and a fishing pole, thinking there was no need to waste a trip if she didn't find anything of value. He put her up on a rock several yards from the water, wading out with his nets tucked into his belt, his pants rolled up to his knees, his fishing pole over his shoulder. He made an impressive figure, his broad shoulders flexing as he cast out his line again and again.

The catch he brought in was just as impressive, hooked fish trapped in a net pinned to the bank, thrashing helplessly as he added to their number.

Maia couldn't stop looking at him, the way he moved, the focus of his gaze on the bobber in the distance. The fish he pulled in were enormous, and she watched his muscles flex and clench in his forearms as he fought with each one, drawing them in after minutes of work. Then he would bend to them, gently unhook them, and then loop a line through their gills and out their mouths, adding them to the doomed companions flopping in the shallows.

It wasn't just his physique, she knew, that held her so captivated. The grace she had seen in him before was much more profound in his element, the ease of his body reflecting the ease of his mind. He seemed so comfortable out here, fishing against the wind, water lapping at his legs. Her presence didn't seem to bother him at all.

_Now there's a thought_, she allowed, her eyebrows raising as she considered this. _Unless he makes a habit of having visitors like me over_, and by that she meant female, human, and recovering from stab wounds, _he seems to be completely at ease with having me here. _

That was an interesting notion. She wondered what the truth was.

It seemed he was wrapping things up. He was lingering over the last catch, bringing it to a tide pool near its trapped brethren, a flash of a blade telling her he meant to gut and clean while he was here.

She wrinkled her nose and stayed where she was; she knew that was the curse of the fisherman, and she had no intention of breaking that tradition. As grateful as she was, he could clean his own fish.

He was fairly adept though; she watched as he worked, swift about the task and soon braiding the lines of over a dozen clean fish. Gulls were calling, eager for the free feast that pooled on the wet rocks. Straightening, he looked back at her and waved, grinning, and began to pick his way carefully over the damp, slippery stones; the tide was coming back, and that was perhaps the only reason he had stopped for the day.

Standing carefully, wrapping her borrowed cloak tight about her, she grinned back at him and eased herself down to the sand, waiting for his return. Again, she found herself admiring his grace, the way his agile feet worked the tide pools, the muscles of his legs flexing as he made his way to her.

The wind had begun to pick up, distracting Maia as it tugged at her clothes, toyed with her skirts. She gasped as one particularly strong wind swept _under_ her dress splayed the fabric about her hips, making her choke on laughter as she was, for an instant, exposed for all the world to see.

He had been looking down, watching where he placed his feet, and for whatever reason, he had glanced up at her at that particular moment. And that was enough.

Concentration broken, Maia watched as his eyes widened in surprise and he missed a step, legs slipping out from under him as he landed with a splash in a puddle of sea water caught in the rocks.

There was no danger; it took everything she had to stifle her laughter just enough to limp over to him, doubled over with the effort. Poor Koda, splayed and undignified, glared up at her from his seat in the murky water. Still breathless, smiling so hard her face hurt, she kneeled at the shallow edge and offered him her hand.

"You," he said calmly, unable to keep his mouth from turning up at the corners through his glare, "did that on purpose."

She pressed a hand to her side, her belly cramping from the laughter.

"_Oh gods!_" she gasped, shaking. "That was... I mean... oh you should... have seen... your... face...!"

He swore at her good naturedly, taking her hand to steady himself as he gingerly moved to his feet. With a grunt, he rubbed at his right knee, looking bothered. There was a large, fat bruise blooming across the surface of his skin, and she could see, even in the coming dusk, that it was starting to swell. He swore again with less humor, and Maia echoed his sentiments; they were both going to have to walk home.

They managed to hobble, the two of them, away from the creeping tide and closer to the stable cliff face, Koda grumbling at her all the while, she laughing at his plight and the crippled pair they made. The sun was close to setting when they finally got to the top of the steepsandstone stairs, plopping down on the grass, legs dangling over the edge to watch the sun set into the sea, leaning back on their hands while they rested aching muscles and caught their breaths.

"There's a punchline in this," he said after a moment's silence, "about your naked body getting me into all kinds of trouble."

Maia lightly punched his side with an indignant laugh, eyes wide with his audacity. They hadn't really talked about their experience, with what seemed like forever ago. It was almost a relief to finally bring it up.

"That was _not_ my idea!" she spluttered. "If you recall, _you_ were the one that decided to... I mean, I just wanted to fix your poor bir-"

Her breath caught in her throat. He had turned to look down at her, that same expression on his face from before. The words died on her lips, and she found herself blushing. She lowered her eyes and turned away, unable to think of anything to say to his wordless question.

A large, three-fingered hand cupped her cheek, turning her back to look up him, his arm winding around her back. The gesture, intimate and strange for all the distance and time between them and those moments in her bed and her home, caught her completely off guard.

She blinked up at him, opening her mouth to ask him-

But he'd drawn her up against him, slid his hands under her cloak and pulled her so very, very close. He didn't kiss her; he simply held her eyes, gazing back, watching as she took in his actions. His eyes followed her tongue as it darted across her bottom lip, a gust of cool air across her bare legs making her tremble.

Koda interpreted her shudder as something else, a flicker of change behind his eyes as he eased his grip and let her settle back down, though he still kept her close. "I'm ... sorry," he said at last, quiet, words tinged with remorse. "I knew, I did," he continued, "That you had meant well when you sent me away." His gray eyes were conflicted, dropping down to her mouth, and slowly moving back up to her own gaze. "The rage, though..."

He shook his head with a sigh, looking away and moving to pull back his arms.

She wouldn't let him; she caught a forearm in her grip, staring back at him. He paused.

"Did you know," he said after a long, quiet moment, "That the only times I have ever given in to the Beserker Rage has been in battle? It's true," he continued, "that all of us have the ability to call on it, in moments desperate or otherwise." He covered her hand with his own, tracing her knuckles with a thick finger, watching himself touch her. "It had never come on me like that before, and has not since."

She frowned, silent and trying to understand. He caught her expression and made a vague gesture.

"Out of no where, in a public place with neither need or fight. I saw you, so out of place and not where you were meant to be, held by that... that..." His breathing was growing ragged, his chest heaving. Maia's eyes went wide as she saw the red tinge his vision, fear making her react.

She shifted up and wound her arms around his neck, tight and hard, and, with a spark of insight, pressed her teeth into his neck where it met his shoulder. He jerked beneath her mouth, wrapping his arms around her with a long, shuddering groan. Clinging to him, she stayed that way, motionless, until his breathing calmed, the rigid lines of his shoulders relaxing bit by bit.

It was a long time, though, until he let her go, turning his head to look at her, the mage practically kneeling in his lap. Even then, he didn't withdraw his arms, simply looking at her, holding her close, contemplating their situation. He inhaled slowly, and let it out with a long, worried sigh.

"I think," he conceded, "That I just might have a weakness for you, brownskin."

Their walk back to the tent was a slow one, both for the limping and the fact that her hand was encased in his. The fact that it was the hand that (still) bore his bracelet did not go unnoticed by Maia.

He settled by the fire, wrapping the fish in a strange casing of clay and herb leaves, a technique, he assured her after her funny expression, was a very tasty way to cook this particular variety of fish. He prepared enough for several meals, then took the rest outside to ready for smoking, at an area on the bank of the lake that had all the equipment meant for such a task.

It left Maia alone with her thoughts, her eyes straying to the cheerful fire and the fish-shaped wedges of clay tucked into the embers, the various parcels and packs tucked neatly along the walls, the weapons, and finally, to their seperate beds.

It was all so cozy and comfortable, but with her observations came a pang of homesickness; she missed her own home by the sea, its private cove and protective walls, her special hotspring, and, especially now that she had a pocket of malleable gold, her tools and torches, gems and work-space.

She tried to push aside such feelings; she was here because Koda had saved her, had brought her into his own sanctuary of his own will to mend and recover. She should be more grateful. Feeling homesick was... was...

_...completely normal_, she gave in with a mental sigh.

The cloak had a simple brass pin, easy to work with one hand while she removed the garment with the other, hanging it on a post near the door. Through the sheer mesh fabric covering the smoke-hole above, the tent opening, and the large cut in the tent wall that acted as a window, she could see the sun had set moments ago, the stars peeking out through the trees and the low clouds that came in from the sea.

With a frown, Maia wondered if it would rain.

She turned back to the living space within, her thoughts turning with her, and she contemplated the living arrangement. Her thoughts strayed to her time here, how long she'd stay and when she'd leave. This place was peaceful, to be sure, but she knew she couldn't settle here; it wasn't in her nature to share a space with someone for too long. She'd learned that the hard way many a time.

But for now, she was happy here and pleased that Koda had taken her in so fully. It was obvious he was a similar kind of loner as she, though his animal companions spoke of a need for company that she couldn't ever understand. Accepting it, though, was another matter; it was just what he was.

By the time the Troll returned, she had finished rearranging the furnishings. It wasn't much but it made a big difference. When he entered the tent, some comment about the incoming rain on his lips, the sight of her and what she'd done rendered him momentarily silent.

She had carefully unrolled the thick, plush bedding of their seperate sleeping places, unfolding his to accomodate another body, thinking his was better to use as the main space as it would be most comfortable for him. Her bedding she had folded twice over and settled at what would be the head of the bed, as a sort of extra long pillow. One set of blankets had been tucked around the bottom bedding, the rest were made up and folded neatly, the cushions piled behind her and strewn along the 'head' of the bed.

The only way for her to sit comfortable was with her legs stretched out before her, and she'd moved to the side closest to the tent wall to make room for him. Her posture was innocent enough; she wanted to address the unspoken without being too aggressive about it, and besides that, there were things she wanted to ask.

She had been playing with the beads on her wrist, watching her fingers as he'd entered and gone silent. The only sound for several minutes was the crackling of the fire, and the distant rumble of thunder.

"The jerk in the tunnels made a point of attacking me only after he saw this," she murmured quietly, still not looking up at him. "I want you to tell me what it means." Her head remained bowed but her eyes flicked up to his, a challenge in her gaze: _I dare you to lie to me._

He said nothing as he sat down across from her, facing her and carefully stretching out his own aching leg, tucking his other foot beneath his bruised knee. With deliberate gentleness, he took her wrist and rolled her hand palm up, planting a soft kiss in the center of her hand.

"It was meant," he began, "as the original gift I'd meant to offer you for healing my bird. Why I didn't just give it to you to begin with... Well, I blame that scandalous thing you were sleeping in; I didn't remember it until the next day, and then you were naked and I completely forgot again." His smile was positively evil, and widened as he watched the blush burn across her face. "It's a token of safety, it was meant to give you safe passage through Troll lands, given that it was obvious you held no ill will towards my kind."

Maia frowned at him. "Obvious?" Not that it wasn't the truth.

He snickered. "I saw the care you gave Blackbird, and how loud he scolded me. You knew where he came from, and yet you didn't kill him. He could have been a spy, or a scout, or a botched attempt to attack you." He tilted his head at her. "You are powerful, and intelligent; if these things crossed your mind, you didn't seem to care."

He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb in slow circles. "And when I confronted you," he continued, "you didn't set my face on fire or rip me apart with your mind." He looked up at her again, eyes sparkling. "You froze me in place and ran, and you would have made it, too, if you hadn't tripped."

Maia tugged at her hand. "That Troll..." And here she hesitated, looking for the right word, and opted instead for the one she could only pronounce in Common. "The Atal'ai?" Koda's responding snarl made her jerk, but she continued on, "He said this was how hunter's mark their pets, that it'd be impossible to remove, and that on me it meant ... it meant something much deeper than that." He looked ready to shake his head, but she stopped him. "He believed it, Koda. You should have seen his face when I actually pulled it off."

"Kodakai."

She blinked at him, tilting her head. "Koda..kah-ee?" she tried.

He renewed his grip on her wrist. "Ko-duh-k-eye," he said slowly, drawing her closer.

It was like resisting gravity. She inhaled slowly, repeating, "Kodakai."

He shuddered as he drew her against him, winding his other arm around her waist. "Yes. That is my tribe-name," he murmured, dipping his head to brush her brow with his lips. She closed her eyes. "Most humans can't pronounce it, so I didn't bother to give it. You, though, say it perfectly." His hands settled in the base of her spine, laying back as he pulled her up along his body, moving slowly to let her adjust without wrenching her thigh.

She lay next to him, her face pressed into the column of his throat, her shoulder tucked against his. He rubbed her back in lazy circles, silent again. Thunder rumbled again around them, though his heartbeat under her ear all but drowned it out.

"Why did you bed me?" she asked softly, pressing her lips against the edge of his ear. Again he shuddered, sigh escaping him.

"Why did you let me?" he countered back, his voice just as quiet.

His question was followed by a liquid patter that soon became a constant; it had begun to rain.

It had taken her a lot of courage to finally ask him, and with his returning question, she found she had no answer. _Why did I let him?_

His hands were not as idle as the conversation. They'd begun to gather up the fabric of her dress a little at a time, drawing up the back of her skirt with such care and stealth that she didn't know she was bare to his hands until his palms cupped the soft curves of her rear. She inhaled sharply and almost went stiff, but his mouth found her shoulder and bit her gently through the cotton. Instantly, she went boneless, trembling against him, and she bit out a nasty, tender curse.

He chuckled into her neck, shifting her to her back, laying on his side along the curves of her body. She looked up at him, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. In the firelight, half in shadow but outlined in light, he made an imposing figure, the angles of his face in sharp relief as they flickered before her eyes. She brushed her fingers along the line of an ivory tusk, drawing along the edge of his mouth before running her fingertips along the soft, full shape of his bottom lip.

"You are beautiful," she mumbled, pinching gently at his lip with her thumb and forefinger.

Koda arched an eyebrow at her, mouth curving in an impish half-smile. "Is that why?" he teased.

She felt the heat burn through her face, having completely forgotten his question. "No, that's not why-"

He interrupted her again for the fifth time that day, this time with a sudden fierce, hungry kiss, and Maia found her arms around his neck before she'd had time to comprehend what was happening. His tongue demanded entry, and with a moan, she let him in, feeling him sweep along her tongue, flick along the roof of her mouth as he withdrew, only to dip deep once again. Below, his hand had resumed the work of her skirts, hiking them up her thighs before running a rough, warm palm along the inside of her leg. Instinct and desire had her relaxing, thighs twitching open to his touch, and he seemed to take this as permission.

With a press of palm and a careful movement, he drew one thick, calloused finger along the seam of her sex, groaning into her mouth to find her already moist. She broke the kiss with a startled gasp, staring into his eyes as he eased that same, thick finger into her tight, eager opening.

A shudder rippled through her, her back arching against the blankets as her head fell back, feeling him press closer, delving deeper. She whimpered and closed her eyes, fingers digging into the firm shapes of his shoulders as he began to stroke her within in careful, firm movements.

"You're...nnn... changing the subject," she groaned, his answering chuckle making her bite lip as she arched beneath his touch again.

Her hips rose of their own will, Maia unable to help her gasping, plaintive moans of pleasure, her words forgotten. At one point, though, she managed to tilt her head against the cushions and open her eyes, only to find him watching her expression, a look of hungry determination on his face. His intensity broke her, and she felt her muscles begin to spasm around his thrusting finger.

He growled low in his chest, feeling her respond, and quickened his pace from steady to rapid. Her mouth dropped open in a startled cry, brow furrowing as the sensation and pressure tripled within her. With a shudder, she spread her thighs wide and lifted them into him, throwing her head back, mouth open wide in shock, her body straining, unable to breathe.

It seemed an eternity until she came back to herself, and when she did, it was to find her dress gone and a warm Troll just as naked as she stretching out beside her. She was trembling and breathing hard, her lids heavy, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

"You are so expressive," he breathed, settling between her legs, lifting her uninjured one to hook around his narrow hips. "So sensitive..." She felt the hard, thick shape of him brush along her opening, and she whimpered at him, desperate and wordless in her sudden need.

"Please," she whispered, gazing up at him. She lifted her hips and felt the tip of his erection press against the wet, hot, yielding flesh of her body. A plaintive groan escaped her. "Kodakai-"

It was slow, his entrance into her, slow and very, very, very good. While she clawed at his shoulders, cursing and begging him, he maintained his careful, even, steady press into her body. He was much larger than she remembered, thick and ridged, and after the first few inches, her words gave way to startled whimpers, her fingers digging into the blankets beneath her as she felt her body yield and stretch to accomodate his shape. Finally, with a low, satisfied groan, he hilted himself in her, pressed against the apex of her hips, and gloried in her prone, panting state beneath him.

He tortured her with his pace. Withdrawing and thrusting, invading and retreating, he was careful to go slow despite her moaning pleas, her protests and desperate curses. Her nails dug into his elbows when he braced himself on his hands, poised above her as he moved between her legs. If she thought he would bring an end to their desire quickly, he proved her wrong as moments spread to minutes, and minutes to longer. She knew what he was doing, knew that he was trying to kill her with her release, but it was hard to remember that when his slow, steady, ceaseless stroking teased her senses even as they began to build and build and build.

It was getting to be too much; she was begging him, arching beneath him and clawing at his back as the sensations within her began to hike, a slow wave of warm pleasure that threatened to drown her as soon as it could. His breathing was fast, shallow, and she felt the occasional droplet of sweat drip down his jaw and splash upon her breasts. She dared to look up at him, to watch him as he rode her to her coming, arched above her and gazing down his long nose at her. He caught her eyes and growled low at her.

"Come for me, Maia," he groaned through clenched teeth. "Come for me." And with that demand, he changed the game.

Rapid and quick, his hips began to piston between her thighs, his slow, deep trusts exchanged for shallow and fast, one hand gripping the leg about him and tilting her hips just so. Despite her pleading, she was not prepared, her release slamming into her so hard she nearly bucked him off of her.

Throwing her head back with a loud, shrill cry, she jerked beneath him as her orgasm rippled through her. Wave after wave, it poured through nerve and flesh and head and soul, his quicker speed drawing it out longer and longer and longer, until she was shouting his name, leaving red gouges along the planes of his back as she clung to him, desperate and blind and drowning in him.

Koda could take no more, his head falling back, gritting out several savage prayers as he struggled to maintain some control, waiting for her peak to abate before taking his own release. But she was making it so difficult, straining breathless and helpless beneath him, whimpering the most indecent things to him in his own tongue. Still, he struggled to stave off the beast inside of him, and nearly succeeded until his ears caught an incredible thing.

"_...yours... yours yours..._" she panted, arching beneath him as another ripple of pleasure shot through her.

_That_ was something his body couldn't ignore, and he groaned an apology to the mindless creature beneath him before he caught his hands behind her knees, spread her wide and shifted his angle. He pounded into her, quick, hard, and deep, her soft shapes jostling lewdly as he took her for his own, at last. Her cries were startled, then encouraging, and, finally, joined by his as he gravetfuly found his own release. His cries were loud, feral roars of accomplishment and intense satisfaction as he emptied himself within her, his hands gripping her hips, keeping her close as he pumped and pumped against her.

It's quite possible they blacked out, after that. They found themselves panting and tangled in each other's limbs, caught up in a fierce embrace, she with her legs wound tight about his waist, he with his arms around her shoulders, both on their sides. He was groaning into her hair, undone and free of its braid, his fingers threading into the dark mass as he held her close.

Maia couldn't think. She could only clutch at him, shaking, feeling as though she'd just made an enormous decision and couldn't for the life of her understand what it was. But it'd been important, this act, this moment, and she knew that something inside of her was changed forever. Blissful and sated in a way she couldn't describe or ever remember happening before, she felt something stolen from her, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, this hunter had ruined her comfort in solitude forever...

To be continued.


	12. The Oasis Before the Desert

Author's Note: AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE AMAZING REVIEWS.

If it isn't clear by now, this is a work in progress, as in, I work on it and hopefully it progresses. THEN I publish it here. It's stress relief, but it's also a victim of constant revisions; I'm always looking for new places for this to go.

Please continue your constructive reviews, you have no idea how encouraging it all is.

Again, in case it isn't obvious, I do not own Blizzard or Warcraft or anything like that, I simply own the characters and the story.

* * *

Neither of them could move for a long time afterward.

They laid tucked together, still tangled, one in the other, she with a thigh draped over one of his, her knee tucked against the inside of his leg. She had an arm thrown over his chest and her cheek against his shoulder, while his tusks had tangled in her hair when he continued to kiss her brow, over and over. One of his arms was wound about her shoulders, the other threading a hand through her hair where it was draped over her hip.

The rain was persistent, a patter of soft, pleasant noise against the canvas, the occassional rumble of thunder reverberating through now and again. The fire had burned low but Koda had placed the fish deep within the glowing embers; it would stay warm without burning, he'd assured her sleepily.

They were both exhausted, having sated each other several times over the course of the night. Maia was sure it was early morning, but she hadn't peeked out at the heavens to check; she had no intention of moving until she was forced to. He was warm and she was comfortable, and they drowsed pleasantly against each other.

Birdsong interrupted her sleep, muted lightly filtering through clouds and cloth to spill across banked fire and tangled lovers. Blurry eyed, she lifted her head to take in their surroundings, only to settle back against him with a soft smile.

_No. It wasn't a dream this time._

She wriggled against his hip, earning herself a murmur of protest and a light slap to flank. "Stop that," he grumbled. "You'll get it started again, and as an honorable member of my species, I'd have to follow through until I'm done." He stretched his arms above his head and gave a long, sleepy yawn. "And, woman, I am _tired._"

She chuckled into his shoulder, bit him gently. The grumble turned into a growl, his blunted nails digging into her hip. "You didn't answer my question from before," she gasped, squirming against him.

In a second, she was flipped to her back, he atop her and inside her, moving insistent and deep. It took her by surprise, breathless beneath him as he bit at her neck, her throat, her shoulder, snarling at her as he held her in place and drove into her. Her release was sudden and sharp, her insides clenching vice-like around him as she arched tightly, gasping his name while he pounded into her. He followed right behind, slowing, and finally spending himself in her with a soft, sated growl.

Rolling to his back, he took her with him, letting her sprawl across his panting chest while she struggled to find her breath. And her brain.

"Stop... changing... the subject..." she huffed, playfully pinching his nearest nipple.

He swatted at her hip (weakly, she noted) with a large, three-fingered hand.

"Ya be a pain, mageling, I giva ya dat." His lapse into Common was intentional, and she laughed at the exasperated tone in his voice.

"Is it so hard to answer?" she countered, still a little breathless. She lifted her head to look at him, saw his eyes shut, a frown crinkling his brow. Her smile faded.

"Is it a serious thing, then?" she murmured, reaching up to thread careful fingers into his tangled, matted hair.

"The way you speak makes me think of my grandfather," Koda mumbled, cracking one clear gray eye open to look at her. "Your friend, whoever it was that gave you that book, he knew the old tongue fairly well, and you've got all the bad habits of a true Zandali speaker." He rolled over on to her, pulling her back beneath him, thighs around his hips.

Maia colored prettily, tugging at his beaded braids with a look of mild irritation. "It's not like I had much choice for a teacher," she murmured. "She fell into my lap and I took it; even Jensen said that what she taught me would be enough to communicate, but little else. I'm trying to learn from you, but I'm not very good with languages."

He snorted at her, an impressive sound with that nose of his. "The hell you are. You're fluent, woman, and you've no accent. That's either magic or ... something else." He was caressing her nearest breast, testing the weight and shape of it, rubbing a hardening nipple with a gentle thumb. He was understanding, more and more, that he couldn't keep his hands off her.

They lost track of the weeks as they flew by, the pair lost in this new life together.

Oddly, Maia thought of it as a kind of honeymoon. When she brought this up to Koda, he had laughed and told her he'd thought of the same thing. Something had opened between them, a bond that had begun with the spark of their first meeting, fanned and tempered by the time they'd spent apart, then finally brought to roaring life with their current time together.

Koda managed to get her out just about everyday, beginning with his carrying of her to the sand, eventually leading to her own climb down, and, after a suitable time, she began to trek by his side on her own two legs.

She was healing, and healing well. As the animal-healer, Taiba, had reassured him, her skin was knitting clean, brown skin creeping across pink scar, leaving behind little evidence of her injury. Her limp was disappearing as well, and soon, she trotted beside Koda as he loped along, her gait as smooth as it'd ever been.

She was also fleshing out again.

Koda made it no secret that he'd liked her as he had first met her, soft and fleshy and curvacious. While her imprisonment had effected this somewhat, she was still larger than most human women, stocky with well rounded hips, strong shoulders, and soft, full breasts. His appreciation of her form hadn't faded whether she was 'skinny' or 'healthy' (his words), but he commented that her shape suited her. It was just as well; Maia prefered her soft curves to angular bones, and while she was in shape and getting more in shape by the day, Koda made sure she ate when she was hungry. Soon, she was the same woman she'd been, and they were both satisfied with the return of her womanly figure.

It was an amazing thing, how quickly he settled into new change in his life. Maia often wondered if she would ever relax as he did, giving himself completely to the presence of another person. She still found herself jumping when Blackbird or Winter would parallel her path without warning, or worse, fall back with a choked cry when Koda would beginning speaking behind her, his footfalls unnoticed. She would laugh it off and let him tease her for being so distracted, but as soon as she'd had a moment to reflect, she'd wondered if she really _had_ been distracted, or simply fallen back into the habit of being on her own.

They learned a lot about each other, she more about him than he of her, though she knew he'd never see that unless she let him. He was so open and far calmer than anybody she'd ever heard of (let alone a Troll), a trait he attested to being raised by a family full of women who were, as he said, "More often bipolar or pregnant than not," and in such a household he felt he could either be relaxed and at ease with the tempestuous women around him, go insane, or die from lack of adaptation. Maia had thought that this attitude was just for her, but as she lived with him, she saw more and more that this wasn't true; he was like that with everyone he encountered.

He was visited at least once every few days by someone or another, for business, trade, or simple social interaction. A few times the Troll-woman, family, and a few friends had dropped by unannounced, but thanks to his many hunting companions, Koda was given enough warning to stow away his human guest beneath blankets, out the back of his tent, or, on one memorable occassion, into the lake and beneath a propped up raft.

_That_ little incident he didn't live down for _days._

She knew it was necessary but it was hard to not feel a touch resentful; a hypocritical feeling, she understood, paired with her slow desire to be living on her own again. If she prefered her solitude, why should she care if she was hidden away and kept a secret? As the days passed, however, the uncomfortable feeling grew and with it her desire for her home, her work, and her old pattern of living.

Ironically, it wasn't long after realizing all of this that everything changed once more.

It was morning, the Troll man and Human woman tangled in each other, panting as they struggled to recover from another intense bout of love-making, she shuddering violently in the aftermath, he weak-limbed and swearing at her under his breath.

It was in this glow that Maia always forget the troublesome thoughts that had begun to plague her, the homesickness and the doubt. When his mouth skimmed her shoulder, out of breath and murmuring to her, she felt she could live here, like this, forever in his arms and his house, as his kept woman or otherwise, and she would never want for anything beyond him. It was hard to see the darkness on the horizon of her mind, obscured by the fire that was Kodakai, his affection and his gentle calm.

As the sun began to rise, the tent tinged with soft light, they both began to rouse, hands straying again, his mouth finding hers, her fingers pulling at his long, coarse hair. A three fingered hand cupped her breast, brushing his thumb across the tip before closing his mouth over her nipple, nursing gently before grazing it with careful teeth.

As she moaned under him and arched her back with pleasure, he lifted his head and caught her mouth in another kiss, ever careful of his tusk, grinding himself against her. He was just about to stake his claim on her again, when they both froze.

"Koda?" a voice called. Maia's eyes went wide, breaking the kiss and pulling back to stare at her Troll.

"Kodakai? You betta be here, mon," continued the gravelly, male voice, his words in heavily accented Common. "I'ma pee in yer bushes if ya ain't..."

With a soft groan and rolling of eyes, Maia understand that Koda knew who the speaker was, the relaxing lines in his shoulders telling her it was nothing to worry about ... at least not now.

With an impish grin, she wrapped her legs around him and bucked her hips up, watching as he gaped at her, incredulous, as with a twist of her pelvis and a careful thrust, she pulled half of him into her. He bared his teeth at her and called her a nasty word, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at him.

"You're a rotten, horrible wench," he hissed at her. Her bright smile was coupled with a giggle, and he pressed his palm to her lips to silence her.

Her answer was to lift her hips and pump them into him, something in the back of his mind voicing admiration that she was so strong... and limber.

Again, though, the voice called, and, frustrated beyond belief and vexed with the mixture of irritation and arousal coursing through him, he pinned the defiant mage beneath him in place and viciously worked himself in her in hard, quick strokes.

He was pleased to see the laughter leave her eyes, replaced by something warmer, and much more tangible. He covered her parted mouth with his hand, pounding into her, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her release clamped her muscles around him and he grit his teeth, trying to find satisfaction in his dominance of her lest he tempt the fates and finish himself within her.

Instead, with a soft growl meant for her ears alone, he withdrew, bit her shoulder, and fumbled for his clothes.

"Here, Arrak," he called. "'s damn early, ya know? Gimme a sec..." He gestured with his chin at Maia, and she scrambled back to dig behind the cushions, tossing him a few of his leathers. As he dressed, he looked at her, took in her curly, tangled hair, the blankets tangled around her hips, her dark eyes watching him back. With a pang, he remembered the day he left her, and at the voice in him then that had told him not to.

He leaned down and caught the back of her head with his hand, drawing her up to kiss her silently. "Stay here," he breathed against her lips. "If you can sneak out to hide unseen, do so, but please... Be safe."

Maia nodded, understanding the rules. Satisfied, Koda ruffled his hair so it looked more bed-ridden than lover-tangled, and strode outside.

Her ears caught greetings and grumbling laughter, and the sound of footsteps fading away as the two wandered off, probably at Koda's encouragement. When she was certain they were out of earshot, she pulled on her clothes and the leather boots he'd made her, and slipped quietly from the yurt.

Peering out around the canvas wall, she saw the two of them working some distance away, unpacking fish from the smoke-house by the lake. They were conversing amicably, gesturing and guffawing, obviously old friends. She smiled a little to herself, but was still aware of the danger; neither of them knew what all of this would mean, and they weren't about to danger each others' lives for the sake of a little pleasure.

That little voice in her head, though, continued to rail at her for being that dirty secret, and she hated herself a little more for letting it get to her.

Several hours later, she snuck back to the lake, invisible by magic and a mental chant, to see if Arrak was still there. The mount that had brought him was gone, the brightly hued raptor living marks in the dirt as it'd traveled back along the cliffs to the west.

_Booty bay?_ she thought, peering around for Koda. _I wonder what brought him here._

She found him soon enough, sitting on the pebbled beach of the lake, staring westward in what she assumed to be the direction his visitor had left. Soundless, she climbed a low, flat boulder beside him, letting the spell go as she faded back into being.

"What was that about?" she asked softly.

He didn't look at her, but she wasn't surprised; he was a hunter, after all. He'd probably heard her when she was much further away. The lines of his shoulders, though, bespoke of emotions she'd never seen in him as yet, and she was suddenly quite worried.

"Koda?" she murmured, reaching for him.

He was as tense as a drum, muscles clenched like stone.

Alarm flared in her, but she remained still and quiet.

"Who is Arin Zarred?" he growled softly, still not looking at her.

Maia flinched. The last thing she expected was something from her life to follow her here.

She licked lips that had gone suddenly dry, shifting on her feet.

"Arin ... is my Guild-leader," she replied quietly. "Why? Has something happened?" she asked.

He did look at her now, and the expression he had on his face took her aback. Without another word, he brought up a hand and offered her its contents: a wanted poster.

She blinked at it, took it and unrolled it carefully...

-only to find her face staring back at her.

Written in Common, both Alliance and Horde, were the following words:

**WANTED FOR TREASON**

**Maia Morwyn-Zarred, wife of Arin Zarred**

**Archmage and Jewelcrafter**

It gave her picture and her description as well as that of her proto-drake, along with a list of possible hide-outs and cities of choice and habit.

Beneath _that_ was a recount of her charges, and as stunned as she was by the mere _existence_ this poster, the words she read now robbed her of speech, thought, and breath.

**Charged in abstentia of the following:**

**Aiding and abedding the enemy **

**Accomplice to attempted kidnapping **

**Unnumbered counts of smuggling weapons to the Enemy **

**Endangering the populace of the Alliance city of Stormwind **

**Attempted assassination of King Varien Wrynn.**

**Information leading to her capture will be rewarded in the amount of**

**100,000 Gold Pieces **

**Presentation of her living person to any Alliance Outpost will be rewarded the amount of**

**200,000 Gold Pieces**

She was breathing hard by the time she read it down to the last word, her vision swimming, her knuckles white with how hard she clutched the parchment.

It was only now that she realized Koda was standing beside her, glowering down at her, his eyes beginning to burn crimson.

"So," he managed to grit out behind clenched teeth. "How long have you been married?"


	13. The Detonation

Maia knew that there was no way anyone but Arin could have volunteered the information about their relationship.

_Gods burn your eyes to ash_, she thought viciously, glaring at the poster still clutched in her hands. _And bring you to a monster that uses the new holes in your head as a means of-_

"Maia."

Her head snapped up.

Koda was furious, the red in his eyes consuming the normal, calm, soothing gray. His hands were clenched to fists and he was struggling to control his breathing. He felt hot, his skin prickled, and all he wanted was to hear her deny it, to tell him she belonged to no one.

To no one else but him.

"It's ..." she began, then closed her eyes, taking a long, deep breath. "It's complicated," she muttered.

She felt hands close around the collar of her dress, felt herself hauled upward to meet the Troll's eyes at close proximity. It wasn't a threat or a violent gesture; he was desperate to make her look at him, to see him and to tell him-

_"What the hell is going on."_

He was shaking; she could feel it, but she still couldn't make herself look into his eyes.

_He'll see_, she thought irrationally. _He'll see it all and he won't understand.._.

"I need to leave," she whispered, prying at his fingers. "It isn't safe anymore, I should have left weeks ago-"

"LOOK AT ME."

She flinched, ceasing in her actions. Slowly, like pushing a boulder uphill, she fought to meet his angry gaze.

It was like crashing into a wall, the kiss he planted on her. Demanding, possessive, passionate, _furious_, this wasn't the soft, sensuous kissing she was used to. It was a mark of ownership, a right he hadn't exercised until now.

She struggled, aroused but startled, trying to pull away. This was a part of him she'd only glimpsed at the height of their love-making, when the feral bit of him would peek out as he let go and took his pleasure. The rest of the time, he was the relaxed, mellow man she'd come to care for.

She succeeded in breaking the kiss, long enough to gasp, "Kodakai-" before he all but snarled her into silence. Carrying her, he stalked toward the tent, hissing at her.

"All this time, you never said anything about belonging to another," he spat, digging a hand into her hair to wrench her head back, making her look at him while he spoke. "I have let you in to my life, my home, told you anything, everything about me, and I knew you held back something_,_" his words struck at her like blows; she should have known better than to assume he hadn't noticed.

"I left you be, let you keep your bit of pride and secrets," he continued, dropping her inside, not carrying that she nearly fell over from the force of him. He paced before her, hackles raised, shoulder tight, hands still clenched. "I thought you'd let me in eventually," he hissed. "At least in other ways than _between your legs-_"

She dared to shove at his nearest shoulder at that, shouting herself hoarse in Common, reverting to her own language in her mortified anger.

"That is _not_ fair, Koda! It's _complicated_, it's not like that at all-" she began.

The growl that tore from him resonated through her bones, and before she knew it she was pressed back against the thick tent post, staring up at eight feet of infuriated Troll, his hands gripping her upper arms so hard she knew she'd have bruises. She pushed against his torso, trying to ignore the fear that had flared up in the base of her brain. "You can't keep me locked up here, expect me to flinch and cower when you throw a tantrum and don't let me explain myself!" she shouted up at him. "You don't understand, I don't belong to Arin!" She was getting desperate, she needed him to listen. "It was a mistake, a joke of a ritual that happened when we were stupid and young and it meant _nothing-_"

"A marriage happens before a priest and a law-maker!" he shouted down at her. "Stop _lying to me, Maia!"_

"I'm not!" she screamed at him. "I had no choice but to take his name! He owns _nothing _about me, he's doing this to _find_ me!" She threw the poster at his feet, shaking in rage. "But at least he isn't ashamed to claim it! He never hid our past or shoved me into the shadows when his family came around or his friends would come calling-"

Maia had a split second to see her words hit him, see the anger fade from his eyes like water draining from a bucket, before they were at each other again.

Strong hands hauled her up under her arms, bringing her within reach of his mouth. His kiss was fire, pure and uncontrollable, his tongue sweeping in to claim her own as his hands swept down to grip the curves of her ass. She didn't know when, but her arms had latched around his neck, her legs fighting to wind about his narrow waist as he sought to push the fabric of her skirt out of the way.

He was growling deep in his chest as he tore at her clothes, possessed her lips and suckled hungrily on her tongue. Maia couldn't stop moaning, helpless in the savage embrace of her powerful Troll, shaking with hunger, arousal, and terrifying need. The buttons of her dress were undone, he was tugging it open and leaning down to capture a portion of an exposed breast with his mouth. She arched in his arms as he suckled greedily, fingers drawing up the sides of her thighs, under her skirt, settling her legs around his waist. She heard him groan her name into her skin, felt his hand squeeze down between them.

One thick finger found her sex, and she whimpered as he drew it up the seam of her folds, wet and hot and shamelessly ready. Squirming, she dug a hand into his wild mane, coaxing him to lift his head so she could hide her embarressment in another passionate, desperate kiss.

_I shouldn't want this! Not like this, not after... I can't..._

Her thoughts ran around in circles as she struggled with herself, but promptly ceased to be as he sank a thick finger into her tight, clenching sex. Her vision swam, unfocused, and she heard him growl in pleasure at the evidence of her readiness. He withdrew his touch, only to press it in again, and again, and again, whispering encouragement as her hips lifted to meet his hand everytime. It was building, the feeling in her hips, low and deep and she knew she was going to break against him.

He grazed her bare shoulde with his teeth, bit her and growled a single word in Zandali: "_Mine."_

It was more than enough, and she went rigid, pumping her hips mindlessly into his palm as her climax robbed her of breath, sanity, and gave it all to him.

Then, of a sudden, he pulled back his hand and straightened, shifted, looking into her eyes as his hands caught under her knees, pressing her thighs back and wide-

-only to thrust into her, at once and to the hilt with a possessive, tender snarl.

Maia jerked and threw her head back with a cry that would shame anybody, indecent, high-pitched and utterly submissive. Throat exposed, she felt his mouth close over it as he began a deep, slow rhythm, thrusting into her over and over as she writhed against him, pinned between Troll and structure.

Her hands were clawing at his shoulders, her hips rolling into him to accept his push again and again, a babble of incoherent words and noises spilling from her lips as he proceeded to rut her brain from her skull. Her body was swimming with sensation, of the deep push and pull, the aching withdrawal, the satisfying plunge, the constant overwhelming _intensity _of him. _He was staking his claim on her._

It was becoming too much; he'd lifted her knees and tilted her hips just so, and it was stimulating her in ways she didn't understand. With every thrust, the friction intensified, and worse, he was going faster, and faster...

"Koda, Koda, Koda, _Koda-" _she whimpered, brow furrowed, expression desperate with sensation, trying to warn him, her legs straining in his arms. "Please, Koda... _please_-" _Please don't hold me done, please don't do this-_

She had a moment's warning, his teeth brushing her neck where it met her shoulder, before he bit down sharply, breaking skin. A spasm ripped through her and she squealed, and then he started to truly pound into her, spreading her thighs wider and lifting her knees higher, bracing her against the support, holding her immobile as he plunged into her hard and fast.

Stars exploded behind her eyes as a cry, shrill and almost a yell, tore from her lips, her spine arching like a pulled bow, fingers clawing at her lover's arms as sje ca,e, nails biting into his shoulder as he roared his possession, his own feral release into her skin. Hot liquid seemed to sear her to the core, spilling deep in her hips as he rode her savagely in his own climax, fingers digging into her legs, soft curves jostling as he jerked and thrust fiercely into her.

Maia came back to the sound of their panting, to Koda lowering them to the ground, both of them trembling with the intensity of their coupling. Her legs finally settled around his waist, Koda brought shaking hands to her face, tilting her head up to gaze into her eyes.

Worry was etched into the lines of his brow, his lips brushing her cheek as one hand stole into her tangled hair. He kissed her face, again and again, murmuring, "Maia, Maia..."

With a soft whimper, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his throat, overwhelmed... and scared. She knew what he had just done, she had heard the conversation in their bodies, the language that had passed between them.

_You are mine_, his actions said. _You are mine and mine alone._

Even as the bliss stole through her limbs, terror, small in its seed, had been planted somewhere in her soul. She did not want to be owned, to be possessed and beholden to anybody, not faction, war, people, or lover. She didn't know if she could.

She felt unseen bars squeeze close out of the corner of her eyes, a trap, silent and disguised.

And while her heart sang against the pounding of his own chest, her mind began to spiral, the same mantra flashing through her head.

_I can't stay here, I can't stay here, I can't-_

His mouth closed over her's again, his warm, calloused hands peeling clothes from her body. Trembling anew, moaning as his palms strayed down her back to grip her soft rear as he leaned her back against their bedding, her thoughts fled and she was left, for the moment, with nothing but aching sensation and frightening need.

And a tiny voice that told her, deep within, that she was a liar; this was exactly what she really wanted.


	14. A Small GoodBye

Author's note: A quick, smaller than usual chapter to let you all know I'm still here. Believe it or not, as small as this entry is, it was hard to figure out where it was going to go from here. Suggestions are welcome, but I have the next few chapters mostly roughed out.

That being said, reviews are welcome.

* * *

"I need to leave."

Maia presented the news to Koda's rigid spine as he stood on the grass, naked, the stars blinking above. She was as naked as he, sore and warm and sticky from their 'fight', but strangely alert.

He'd left her arms not minutes before, panting and post-coital, but far from relaxed. His disentanglement had been gentle but firm, and the frustration she read in his eyes now radiated from every line of his body. It had taken every last bit of will power she had to say those words, but once said, Maia knew she'd never back down.

She'd lived with him these past months, but beyond that, they ... _knew_ each other. A resonance in the bones that radiated through the soul, an acceptance of the other that transcended emotion. This awareness, this understanding, made it clear to her that Kodakai knew her stubborness as deeply as he knew his own.

To its credit, the intense love-making had mollified the Troll. He did not protest, letting the silence stretch out long and still between them.

Eventually, he nodded his head, and looked down.

"How long?" came his quiet reply.

Maia shivered, closing her eyes, wrapping her arms around her naked chest. "Long enough to straighten this out, and find out what happened and restore some semblence of honor to my name. I'm no trai-"

The Troll spun around and took a step towards her; fearless for once this evening, she held her ground and stared up at him.

His teeth were bared as he breathed loudly through them, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You think... I give a _rat's ass_ about _...that_?" he hissed, incredulous.

She stared up at him, confused and startled.

He passed a large three-fingered hand over his face, looking around at the moonlit lake, his comfortable home, his peaceful haven. "You are the most oblivious, stupid, fluffy-headed little-" and it went on, a mumbling torrent that went with him as he spun on his heel to stalk down the bank.

In particular, he went to the little area he'd set aside for her work, where she'd cast a few primitive pieces mostly to show him how it was done. As she watched, he kicked around some tools, pushing aside fire-bricks, digging into the dirt. Finding what he'd been looking for, his long legs propelled him back up to where she stood, frowning at him, arms around her chest.

He reached for her, fumbling with her hand, and she felt him shove something roughly over her left wrist, metal clinking softly against matted glass.

Fingers running over the rough surface of the bangle, her skin recognized the metal as gold. _Her_ gold, what they'd mined together when she'd first arrived, limping and starved. Blinking up at him, her fingertips continued to see what her eyes could not in this light; it was rough polished, still bearing the marks of its casting. The inside, though, against her skin...

It was as smooth as silk, high polished to where she was sure it would gleam. Etched into it, though, so that it would press against her skin like a private prayer meant for her body alone, were recessed symbols... No...

Words.

She withdrew the bangle and peered at the inside, fingers rubbing along the polished surface. Zandali. The old language in written form, spelling words of endearment in a way they both recognized.

She choked with emotion as her fingertip strayed along the word '_wife'_.

He had made this for her, in blending of custom for them both, a gold circle that meant forever, to be worn always-

The bracelet was tugged gently away and replaced on her wrist. "You can read the rest later," he murmured, before picking her up bodily and giving her a soft, aching kiss. He simply held her against him, not letting her feet touch the ground, his brow pressed to hers, bare chest to bare chest. Her arms, tight about his neck, squeezed gently, pulling a sigh from him.

"I don't care about the charges," he whispered. "Just ... I can't take you if you aren't mine.. I can't present you as mine, before the Elders of my tribe, to claim as my ow-"

The rest of the night was a blur.

A day later, Koda was landing his large draconic mount a half mile or so north of her home, the dark, haunted forests of Gilneas all the more ominous in the parting of these two lovers. Her pack at her feet, she looked up at him as he remounted, fussing with his reins longer than necessary while she fingered the gold bracelet around her wrist.

Eventually, though, he looked down at her; she gripped his ankle, squeezing it as she looked up at him.

Voicing a noise between a growl and a sob, he leaned down and gripped the collar of her dress, fingers entangling in her cloak, and hauled her up off her feet once more. This kiss was a primal one, salty with the tears of a Troll and the bitterness of an unknown distance of time and necessity.

"I'll come back to you," she pressed against his mouth. She felt him shudder. "Whole or in pieces," she laughed, tears on her cheeks. "I swear."

He simply nodded, stealing another fierce, anguished kiss, before dropping her to her feet and yanking savagely at his reins. He was in the air before she could recover her balance, watching him disappear into the clouds, leaving her gasping, weightless and near-grieving.


	15. The Pregnant Courtesan

A roar of irritated welcome greeted her ears as she hauled herself over her unattended wall. Sun-Iron was mantling at her from one of the large pine trees overlooking her house, clutching at the living wood with claws that made the bark splinter and gouge. With a wrench of movement, the proto-drake launched herself to the ground and dug up the earth in her effort to get at Maia.

Knocked over with a well-intended nuzzle, the woman laughed and hugged the creature's large, angular, pointy-toothed head. A quick once-over relieved Maia; the drake's harness was in place but bare of any baggage. This meant her ore was smelted and accounted for in the many vaults of the great Dwarven city and no longer burdening her large, winged friend.

"I missed you too," she mumbled, dusting over her dress as she struggled to her feet. Surveying her home, things looked about the same. It shouldn't have surprised her; no one knew where she lived, save her sister. Still, with the events of the last few days, it _did_ shock her that things were as she'd left them.

In her bedroom, she dug out her larger traveling pack and filled it with enough supplies and clothes to last her at least a month. She knew this was no easy trek she went on, a journey through cities, lives, and legal systems that may very well end up in her banishment. Or worse.

Within an hour of her return home, she was mounted up and ready to leave. Looking over her yard, her walls, her little cove, she felt a pang of regret; she'd wanted to be here, to live and love her work, to savor the air and the ache of her fingers. Now that she was home, though, she knew it was imperative that she get going right away. This was serious business to attend to.

The City of Stormwind was different than last she'd seen.

She thought it best to wing in at night, cloaked, face-hidden, and land on the aerie platform. She shoo'd away her drake for her own sake, and, hoisting her pack, wandered into the city.

She was not prepared for the walls that glowed with hell-fire and giant gouge-marks, nor the toppled buildings or sagging statues. Trembling, her feet still found their way unerringly to a building off and hidden out of the way, down a street and through an alley.

Red light, warm and lush, spilled out across the cobble-stones. Several stories high, the narrow building, wedged between two greater buildings but the only one facing the street, was full of light and laughter. Its several balconies boasted scarlet lanterns, happy patrons, and the many employees who sought to entertain them all.

The light, throbbing crimson and unmistakeable, was a welcome, and a warning: there weren't many who didn't know what it meant.

Passing through the front door, still hidden, Maia gazed around the large, laviciously decorated front room, couches, divans, and large cushions scattered about, occupied by a variety of humans, Elves, Draenai, Dwarves, and even a few gnomes. Some were so ornately decorated that it was difficult to seperate patron from courtesan.

Smirking, she wondered what Kodakai would make of this place. Or Arin, for that matter. No one knew that Maia had a sister, let alone what said sister did for a living.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand touched her elbow.

Understanding the etiquette of this place, she did not whirl about or make a sound. Instead, she simply waited, tense.

"Your sister is through the archway," came a soft, androgynous voice near her ear. "Up the stairs at the end of the hall, there's a door set into a wall of glass-less windows. Go through the door and press back past the five layers of curtains. She is seated there, waiting for you."

Maia didn't nod; instead, she murmured her thanks and followed the instructions.

Up the spiral stairs, the landing spread out into an expanse of floor that made it one great room. Sections were shielded by dividers of wood and cloth, as well as curtains. Shapes could be seen within, but the suggestion of privacy guarded the occupants from piercing eyes. Across the room, discreetly tucked into a corner, was another set of stairs that led up to the guarded, private rooms of the courtesans themselves, to sleep or entertain, or both.

The wall of windows, as her guide put it, was set in the back of the room, giving it the ability to see and peer and just about everything that went on in this particular area, and especially who went with what when a client would climb the stairs to the cloisters above.

She knew better than to knock.

The door swung open and she walked through, living it to close soundlessly behind her. Sheer silk in deep crimsons and soft pinks hung to the floor, layers upon layers of curtains that obscured and befuddled.

"Feet and eyes forward," came a familiar voice. Maia smiled a little, and did as she was told.

When she peeled back the tenth layer or so, she made out an alcove set into the back wall, big enough for a large couch and a very sturdy looking, over-stuffed chair. There was a figure seated in both.

_Interesting_, she thought.

The last curtain pulled aside, she opened her mouth to greet Tharrah-

Only to gape, soundless, at the pregnant woman smiling pleasantly at her.

Moments stretched to minutes.

Finally, Tharrah laughed.

"You're going to catch flies with that look," she chuckled, moving carefully to stand before her sister.

The two women were nothing alike, at least not in the conventional sense. Tharrah bore a smaller frame and was a few inches shorter, even though she was the older of the two. Her curves, as abundant as Maia's, were far more exaggerated by her much smaller waist,evident even in the early stages of her pregnancy.

Her coloring was different, too. Instead of Maia's brown skin and wild, black mane, Tharrah was the color of creamed honey, and her hair a sleek, straight, thick fall of platinum silk. The only thing the sisters had in common were their bistre eyes, a soothing brown that even then were edged in black on Maia, and soft, gold-blonde on Tharrah.

Their mouths were also the same, though Tharrah had a sultry, sensuous aura that she seemed ever cloaked in. This, and the many other tiny details, kept the pair forever seperated and guarded from the ties they shared.

Maia snapped her mouth shut, bringing her trembling hands to the low, obvious swell of Tharrah's belly.

"You...?" she choked out.

Tharrah wrapped her fingers in Maia's, entangling them both and giving them a firm squeeze. "Yes. I'll explain later, but I'm fine." Her eyes darted sideways to the other figure, before her soft cheeks blushed.

Maia glanced, just as discreetly, and almost burst out laughing; human he seemed, this fine gentleman, but his unkempt hair, savage eyes, and lean, almost lanky look... He radiated _worgen_ so adamantly that she wondered if he was doing it on purpose. As it was, he seemed both relaxed and fiercely protective; his very posture reminded her of Koda, and her sudden longing for him burned her sharply.

She closed her eyes and nodded once, turning back to her kin. If Tharrah trusted this man enough to keep him so close and, she suspected, father a child with, he was obviously someone she could count on to keep her sister safe.

She looked again at the brothel-madam, pride swelling in her that her sister had found a place, and love, and seemed so at ease in her world.

"When did you call the guards?" Maia asked, motioning for Tharrah to sit as she sat down.

Tharrah settled herself, rearranging the folds of her gown as she tucked her ankle up beneath her. "The moment you stopped outside," she assured her. "We have five minutes, seven at the most."

Maia sighed. She expected nothing less from her sister. Still. Not enough time. "Alright. So you heard about-?"

"I did. I know better, but Arin wouldn't have used that bit about you and he if he wasn't desperate to find you. This whole thing stinks of intrigue and politics, and I think it's some big trap-"

"You're giving Arin too much credit, Tharrah," Maia chuckled weakly. "Remember: he's tall, strong, beautiful, righteous, and very well endowed, but he doesn't have enough brains to fill a tea-cup."

The wild-looking gentleman gave a snort of laughter.

_More points from me_, she thought in approval.

"I'm moving to Dalaran," blurted Tharrah, eyes flicking past Maia's left shoulder to signal someone unseen. "The climate here has become xenophobic, to the say the least, and I've clients that are tired of sneaking past enemy walls." She took something from the worgen, and offered it to Maia. "There's enough in here to get you past the... 'problems' that will no doubt open up before you," she murmured, gesturing for her to stand.

Maia stood, glancing over her shoulder. Were those shouts-?

"Arin is there in the floating city, in the Citadel, thinking he's guarded in his precious office," the pregnant woman spat. "It was so very hard not to use my resources to-"

Maia shook her head and pocketed the collection of letters. "Don't. No one must know, especially now."

Tharrah nodded, her full lips pressed into a thin line.

"Besides," the mage continued, "I need to do this on my own. It's my responsibility."

Her sister looked sharply at her. "You mean... you _did _help the Forsaken woman visit her daughter?"

Maia inhaled, startled. "What exactly are they saying about that?" she asked slowly.

"The woman broke into the orphanage by the Cathedral," Tharrah said, looking over Maia's shoulder again, standing to pull her aside and behind the chair. The gentleman remained seated, one hand raised in warning as he peered past the curtains. "They say she had the child in her arms, and that she looked _human_, until a guard swears he saw her '_flicker_' before his eyes." Maia glanced over her shoulder, too. She could definitely hear shouting now.

"I spoke to the children," Tharrah continued. "And the matron in charge at the time. Their stories match, but while the matron was terrified and had to practically be bribed to tell me the truth, the children all said the same thing."

She drew up Maia's hood, but left her face bare. "The woman had been crying, they said, and she was singing the little girl a lullaby, kissing her face and weeping against her. She'd put a necklace over her head, a locket I found out later, with a likeness of two people in it. A woman and a man, the former looking a lot like the Forsaken's body after they found her." She peered hard at Maia. "She let go of the girl and ran away when the guards came in. I'm the only one that knows about the locket, which is safe with the girl. I pulled a few favors in to play, and she has a nice home in a safe place."

Maia suspected 'safe place' was the same as 'under my thumb', to Tharrah. Blinking, she pulled them to a stop. "Wait," she interrupted. "Why do you _know_ all this, Tharrah?" It was all rather... convenient.

The courtesan stared at her sister. "I was told it was _your_ sigil on that bracelet, Mai. Not on the metal, but in the magics buried within it." She threw up her hands, exasperated. "That was enough! I know you, you'd never intentionally start a war, let alone assassinate the King!"

"Anyway," she continued, drawing them both back, further, beyond the alcove that the mage realized _now_ was only a trick of the eye; the wall was in fact not just a wall, but a wall with a doorway cut in the corner, obscured by light and more fabric. It was in here that Tharrah drew her sister in deeper. "What pointed to a treasonous conspiracy was that the poor thing got lost. She took a wrong turn at the canals, I think, and headed towards the palace." Maia couldn't see it, but she could almost hear the wince in her sister's tone. "Everyone panicked, and they practically tore the poor creature apart before they-"

Maia covered her face with her hands. _"Oh Jensen,"_ she breathed, sorrow wracking her form.

Tharrah jerked. "So you _did_ make that bracelet!" she hissed.

Maia nodded, then realized she probably couldn't see that. "Oh Tharrah, it's not what you think. I was trying to help her. She was fresh dead, she just wanted to say good bye..."

"I know that, Mai," her sister breathed, and she was gratified by the fierce, warm hug she gave her. "She got lost because she was exhausted," she explained quietly, sadness in her voice. "Her skirts were filled with river stones, sewn into the lining. If she'd made it to the harbor without mishap, no one would have found her."

There was a shout behind them.

Tharrah began to shove at her sister. "Go, back, put your finger tips to the wall and follow it to the sewers. Don't worry about hiding," she explained. "It's pitch black but completely safe." Maia felt a quick kiss, and another push. "Go, love. We will find each other again."

As the mage stumbled into the darkness, she heard Tharrah close a hidden door, and before long, hear her sister's over-dramatic screech, even muffled by plaster and stone:

_"YOU IDIOTS! WHERE WERE YOU TWO MINUTES AGO? THAT CRIMINAL WAS HERE AND SHE DESTROYED MY VIEWING ROOM-!"_

Stuffing her free hand in her mouth, Maia made it out of the tunnel before she burst out laughing with sheer hysteria.

_Ah, gods! _she thought, struggling to silence herself as her boots splashed along shallow puddles. _The plot thickens, and it appears it seeps from Dalaran..._


	16. The Rude Awakening

It was dark again.

_Again?_ she thought. _And why does my head hurt-?_

Maia tried to move, bringing her hands towards her face, only to find she couldn't, that iron weighed down her wrist, and the momentum of the world wouldn't stop rocking her from side to side.

_Rocking-_

She sat upright, only to slam her head against a low ceiling, explosions bursting behind her eyes as darkness swept her up again.

Memory was trying to come back to her, hand in hand with consciousness.

_Standing a room. Arin! Arin is there, he's... afraid? _

_I'm yelling at him. No... no I'm talking to him, but I'm angry. I'm asking..._

_"Why did you do this?"_

_And he's not answering. He's pacing, he's worrying his hands and looking out the window. Dalaran is dark now, it's cold but it's also anxious._

_Waiting._

_Arin is nervous. He's waiting for something. _

_I'm trying to leave, to stand up and run. It's not right, there's something wrong. My letters got me here without so much as a ripple in the fabric of communication; no one was expecting me. Why is Arin so nervous?_

And then.

_That smell..._

With a jerk, she was awake again, blinking in the darkness and still struggling to remember.

She'd been in Dalaran, she'd found Arin holed up in his little tower santucary. She'd surprised him, he hadn't been expecting her so soon, he'd said. But then why did he look so afraid?

Or so guilty?

Shifting her hands in the present, the tell-tale scrape of iron against wood told her what bound her in place. The panic of being in a box again tried to choke her. She pressed her face to the floor, swallowing dryly, her fingers finding the smooth edge of her gold bracelet.

She shut her eyes, willing Koda's face behind her lids. He was looking at her like he did when he was trying to figure out what she was thinking. Inquisitive. Loving. It made her feel warm, to know that he loved her, and it was that warmth she drew on now.

The panic subsided. Her heartbeat slowed.

She could hear again.

Gulls. Gulls and the waves of the ocean.

And it was humid; she could smell it through the floor of the box, between the rocking and the rushing-

"I'm on a boat," she muttered, eyes widening in surprise.

On a boat to where? She started to pull at her chains, the warmth of memory shattered before the frigid reality of her situation. She kicked against her walls, pushed at the ceiling, and heard the tortured warp of nails as she made progress in loosening a few boards.

_So thirsy,_ she thought desperately. _No energy, it's tapped dry and I don't know how long-_

There was a wrench of wood; the roof was torn away. Tainted light burned her vision, and she curled up into a defensive ball as she whimpered in pain.

The world was loud here, crashing waves and shrieking gulls, and the heavy breathing of many bodies. 

And that smell again...

_What is that?_

"I tol' ya I would get ya," came the drawl of a foul voice, the remnants of something nasty clinging to a voicebox that had no soul. A touch at her cheek, almost tender as it drew down her throat, gripped her collar and hauled her upward.

There, filling her sight, was the last thing she ever wanted to see; the fetid breath of a Troll, unkempt and greasy, leering smile... She hadn't seen it in months, but she'd remember it anywhere, from the sewers of the mage city or her foulest nightmares.

He was pressing against her then, too, like he was now, erection through his clothing, pressing against her robes like he sought entrance. He seemed content to simply terrorize her though, smiling as screams tore through the air.

_Screams? _ she thought, before she realized it was her mouth that was open, her throat that was raw as the sounds tore through her. They ceased as soon as she understood that it was she that screamed, and using the energy of her fear to fight instead.

But this time, she _was_ weak, starved and thirsty, not a bit of energy to dredge up to fight him off. He leered at her and gripped the back of her hair, turning about and presenting her to the crowd she hadn't seen.

Green-skinned, mold-clothed Trolls, hunched or standing on the shores of a great swamp. Her captor was shouting to them, holding her up until her toes barely touched the ground. It was in a dialect she couldn't understand, either by ignorance or sheer terror.

There were words that she caught, though, that made it worse, words like 'vessel' and 'holding', confusing her more with every moment. But then, he twisted her about, a knife to her throat, and he cackled maniacally as he pointed out into the jungle beyond them.

A temple rose from the trees, backed by a bloody sky and annointed with black lines of smoke and rippling, jagged lightening of angry power. There were cheers erupting behind her, savage sounds of delight that made her skin crawl.

"Tol' ya," came his voice at her ear. "Tol' ya, I knew what ya be worth..."


	17. The Beginning of Betrayal

Author's note: Between the holidays and family and finding out I'm pregnant with my second child, life has been overwhelming. But I have not forgotten you guys, especially not with your amazing reviews and comments and messages. THANK YOU SO MUCH! Other chapters are soon to come, I swear. I hope you enjoy this one, and in case I didn't mention it before, Blizzard own all things Warcraft, I just own the characters and the story and the dirty, dirty verbal porn.

* * *

Several days before Maia's name was tacked to every vacant wall from Dalaran to Booty Bay, her guild-leader, Arin Zarred, contemplated his current circumstances.

Arin Zarred had always considered himself a brave man.

Granted, that was usually because he never left his Guild office, confined primarily to paperwork and the economics of his little community, but it wasn't something he dwelled on. His days of soldiering the front lines were over. He prefered the power that came with leading, heeding the call of duty when summoned, sending his best to do the work and accepting the praise that usually followed when the campaigns were successful.

No, his preference... his reward ... for all his service to the Alliance was to sit back, guide the chess pieces from afar, and manage the coins that filled his coffers.

There was a lull these days, however. The rise of Deathwing had called many of his guild-mates home, to families who'd lost their entire villages, burned farms, damaged cities. Irrationally, he fought the urge to tongue-lash every last person in his command, to get back in line and do as he said, not flee to their homes to pick up the pieces of a collapsing nation.

He knew he was considered an extremist, but their money was drying up, the wealth of adventures and military campaigns trickling into the expenses it took to maintain members, property, taxes, tithes, and debts over-due.

Sitting at his desk, he squirmed over that last thought.

Arin was a man of many debts, and many of which were over-due. For the hundredth time that evening, he stared at the two accounting books open before him. One was the accounting record he presented to his guild secretary and the Alliance revenue services.

The other was the real accounting record, the one he kept in his private quarters, when it ever left his side.

For many years, they tallied to about the same, though the sources and export of incomes was a little ... tailored. His crafters and artisans had kept everything nice and even, covering the expenses – his expenses – that he felt due his as leader. He was too busy managing his guild to learn a trade, and many, many of his guild crafters were at the top of their skill. Indeed, it was the first incentive he gave when he founded the White Suns Company; no tradesman in his guild would go hungry, he would purchase from them directly, sell the items and share the profits with the guild bank.

Minus a small percentage, of course, for himself.

And it had gone on for so long without hitch or problem.

Until the Shattering.

His tradesmen were no longer worried about giving him their best. They had followed the example of that damned mage, Maia, when they heard what she'd been doing: selling her wares on her own to any customer of any faction at prices she dictated, often at far less than what Arin himself had been selling her pieces for.

He gritted his teeth in rage, running his hands through his sandy-blonde hair.

Why would they sell to him at double cost, when they could sell for triple cost, which was more than half of what Arin himself would have charged?

His guild-mates now made their wares to support their homeless families, their destroyed townships, and completely bypassed the guild altogether.

His loans were swiftly going into default, his four expansive homes threatening to foreclose, his five businesses going dry of all the goods he had previously sold. Soon he would be bankrupt, with nothing to his name but his fouled reputation.

Or worse than nothing; he still had those other debts to pay.

As if summoned by this particularly gruesome thought, a voice filtered through the shadows, the origin the empty, night-graced terraced his desk faced.

"Ya be lookin' peaked, if ya don' min' me sayin'. Are ya gonna tell me ya can' pay me. Again."

The voice was water over gravel, liquid but unclean. The stench that came with it was unmistakable.

Arin jerked upright, eyes wide, and screamed silently at himself for leaving the balcony doors open.

"A-ah-" he stammered at first, mind racing. "Nn... well... actually..." He cleared his throat, eyes darting, wondering if there was anything he could trade or barter with. "You're ah... you're right, I don't have any money but-"

He saw movement – pale scar-mottled green skin and greasy black braids, easing from the darkness with a sleek grace that made him nauseous. He stood abruptly, holding his hands up in a warding gesture.

"-but! I wanted to know if... if there was anything I could trade in lieu of payment?"

The posture of the Troll changed, his movements changing to something less dangerous. Arin resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose as the fetid creature perched on the edge of his desk. The Troll's scars had healed completely since last he saw him, no longer pink and raw looking. The human momentarily envied the regenerative power of trolls, but quickly pushed the thought away.

"Ya be a good employer," the Troll drawled, fiddling with a paper-weight on the human's desk. "Offerin' so much for a simple follow-an-chase." He looked Arin in the eye then, his grin feral, aggressive, and without humor. "Though ya miss'd tellin' me about how powerful the lil' bitch was."

A shudder ran through Arin, but he attempted to look irritated, brow furrowing. "I told you to be discrete," he returned, jabbing a finger in the Troll's direction. "Not to confront her in the open. All I wanted to know was what she was doing with all the extra items she made, how she had enough money to pay guild-tithes without going out on a single campaign."

The Troll laughed, a hollow sound, his head thrown back and tangled, lanky hair swinging. "I know it, mon," he chuckled, idly rubbing his wrist. "I be a professional, I know how ta hide in the open an' wander past, observin' and lookin' without bein' noticed. Woulda been fine, too, if I didn' realize you'd sent me after a morsel of a Troll-fucka." That grin was back, but this time, it held all the mocking laughter the last one didn't.

It took a moment for Arin to understand what he'd been told, and then another moment for the rage inside him to seep up and boil over.

Whatever his spy saw, it pleased him, his grin absolutely wicked. "Thas' right, mon. Not only was she cheatin' ya of yer profits, she was beddin' the enemy too." He cackled.

Arin was speechless. Rage wiped his mind of coherent thought; he gripped the edge of his desk so hard the wood began to creak.

The Troll shifted where he sat, as if to get comfortable, his eyes closing half way as he considered the human. "I be keepin' that to myself, hopin' to find her myself. But..." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "The little brown-skin has disappeared. House empty, goblins an' clients I findin' say she late on her deliveries."

Arin still said nothing, slowly coming down from his high and listening closely. "What are you getting at?" he grunted out from behind clenched teeth. He was getting a headache now too.

The Atal'ai contemplated Arin a moment longer and then dug around in a satchel attached to hips; withdrawing a pouch that, when tossed on the desk, jingled heavily with gold. The human swallowed dryly, staring at it.

"First in a payment of three," the Troll drawled, smug smile on his lips. "Ya said ya knew her a long time ago, an' I imagine it was more than jus' a roll or two in the sack, mmm?" At Arin's silence, the Troll cackled. "Ya not lookin' for her no more, since ya know what she was up to, an' I hear that the information I gave ya kinda backfire." He eyed the human's accounting books, noting the negative numbers peppering the page.

Arin jerked and snapped them closed. "More than that!" he snarled, anger taking hold of him again.

"She a traitor too, eh? Leavin' ya, sellin' what's yer's to the enemy, fuckin' em, screwin' with yer plans..."

It was too easy, but the Troll was riling the human up again. Arin didn't care; he let the anger carry him in a cloud of red.

"I be sayin' I give ya two more bags of gold, one when ya get her to come to ya, an' another after I get her ... where I want her." The Troll licked his lips, the gesture unconscious.

Despite his rage, however, Arin paused. "You're ... you're asking me to bring her into the open? To trade her, sell her, to ... you?"

The Troll grinned, pleased. "Why, I like the way ya think! I think I be takin' that offer, in lieu of money! I mean, it's not ya fault, bein' broke an all..." He cackled.

"And ... our debt?"

"Gone."

"Done." Arin sniffed. "She's a traitor anyway. I bet that's where she's at, too, hiding behind her... her..."

"Some advice, mon, before ya start yellin' her name in all manner of quarters: if she be with a Troll, best way to get her runnin' is to get him to cast her out. Honor would demand... that he claim no woman that belong to someone else." He paused. "Ya get what I be sayin', mm?"

A memory came unbidden, a moment from childhood where self-inflicted cuts on the thumbs of little children were pressed together, an exchange of names and a vow of bonding. He flushed and shook the memory away. An idea stayed with him, though.

"Yes," he considered slowly. "Yes, I can do that. But how would I? I don't know who he is, or where-"

At that, the Troll dropped a stack of pages on Arin's desk. At the human's arched eyebrow, the Troll said, "Receipts from the Goblins."

The human suddenly looked doubtful. "So? Everyone knows they're neutral. She isn't the only one selling through them-"

"They ain't neutral no more, remember?" the Troll cackled. "The Warchief-" (no one really considered anyone else but Thrall as the Warchief, despite the politics going on in Orgrimmar) "-invited them into our fold when they saved his life. Selling her wares to them, if, o' course, this evidence was presented to the right people, can be considered an act of treason." His grin turned feral.

Arin blinked slowly, flipping through the pages. Then: "But... these are dated. I mean, I might-"

The Troll managed to look disappointed. But then, feigning defeat, he pointed at her sigil at the bottom of one page. "Oh, be that her mark? That looks so familiar..." He leaned forward, and casually dropped another stack of papers atop the desk. "Oh well. Sorry for takin' up ya time, then."

Arin opened his mouth in confusion, ready to ask a question, but when he looked up he was alone.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he realized the Troll had deliberately left the gold behind – and an extra stack of articles. What was he up to?

Sitting back down, he reached for the bag and tested its weight. Despair radiated through him; two more bags of such a size would fix all his problems; would settle his loans on at least one house, work through the paperwork of closing his failing businesses, and even out his ledgers with the guild. How was he ever going to find what the Troll wanted? It was such an easy fix...

His eyes wandered to the last papers the Troll had presented. It looked like an incident report, the stationary stamped with the symbol of Stormwind City. He reached for them, eyes skimming the hand written words. This was a cop copy, statements from a jewel crafter in their employ for evidence.

"What the hell is-" he began, before understanding began to set in.

There was an attack on the king, by a Forsaken woman who'd been disguised by a powerful charm, a bracelet bonding to an illusion spell. The jewel crafter had found the maker's sigil ingrained into the magic, hidden carefully but now revealed. He'd illustrated it on the fourth page, with a suggestion to pass around the maker's mark for personal identification.

The fifth page was a reward flier for any information, signed by the King himself.

Arin felt himself salivating, even as he scrambled for a pen and paper and yelled at the top of his lungs for his secretary to get a messenger in here- "-RIGHT NOW!"

It was perfect. Revenge neatly tied to a solution to a hundred problems and a pay bonus to boot. Absolutely perfect.

As Arin began to write his letter to the Captain of the Stormwind Guard he gathered up Maia's receipts and stacked them on the flier, detailing in his writing about Maia's character, the evidence of her sales to the enemy, and – most of all – the casual reference to her maker's sigil; In case, of course, they recognized it in their investigation. Just in case. He even included her full name, which of course included his own, from the vow they took. Nevermind that it was a child's vow of brotherhood; no one would ever know the difference.

Arin's smile was sly, his despair and depression vanishing with his anxiety, declaring in his written words that despite his attachment to his 'wife', he knew where his loyalties were and would never hesitate to fork over any information he had on such a terrible attempt on the life of their sovereign.

As he sealed the package and handed it to the messenger, he refrained from cackling with glee as he considered all the possibilities.

Ah, he thought. What luck is this, to find such a satisfying solution to such a mundane problem!


	18. Sacrificial Lamb

PLEASE BE WARNED: The following is very graphic in that it describes certain acts of sexual assault. Please don't read if you can't handle that sort of thing. Or just skip those bits.

Thank you for your patience, you lovely, lovely creatures. I think I'm out of my mental funk. :3

* * *

Maia was having a very difficult time staying sane.

In the beginning, the borderline dehydration her captors kept her left her in a near constant state of delusion. Her vision swam, tinged around the edges with shadows that made it hard to focus on anything real.

And the drums ... the drums went on all day, and all night.

She was kept in a hut that was always guarded, at least without if not within. Bound to a stake in the center of the structure, her clothes completely removed. Her nakedness didn't bother her near as much as when they cut her hair; she wept during that whole process, the only thing keeping her from fighting was abject fear, and the weight of the gold bracelet they let her keep on her wrist. She was told if she held still, they wouldn't rip it off her arm.

Despite her lack of clothing she wasn't molested. If anything, they thought she was disgusting, words she picked up and heard around her and through the walls of the hut, comments about her ugly coloring and short stature, small feet and impish facial features. Still, she was left mostly alone.

Except by _him_.

He introduced himself as Jul'Kazor, Atal'ai priest and humble servant to Hakkar. If that wasn't enough to send chills down her spine, it's the way he looks at her, erection apparent through his loincloth, walking around her with one finger always on her skin, be it her shoulder or her neck or the arms she has pulled backward and bound into place. He brushes his hands lower now and again to grip her breast and heft it like he's testing its weight, or maps the curve of her hip with a clammy hand like a person would examine ripe fruit. This is about his extent of his molestation; he barely speaks to her in these moments, and they're pretty rare on their own.

Only once does she think he's going to actually rape her.

It's in the middle of the night, sky black with scented smoke and thick with pounding music and wailing, horrific chanting that puts nasty images in her head. The ruckus has reached its zenith, echoing through the strange village, when he throws back the curtain of the hut and marches in.

He's naked, foul-smelling and sweat-drenched, gripping her chin as he hauls her to her feet. The wild, feral look in his eye sends terror spinning through her limbs, and she's thrashing before he even makes his intentions known.

Hands yank at her thighs even as she twists, her croak of fear sounding feeble and pathetic in her ears. He's panting, his skin is damp and leaves traces of moisture on her own flesh, makes her shudder at the physical evidence he's leaving behind. He reaches for her sex and it's then that she shakes the last of her stupor from her and screams at the top of her lungs. With a deft jerk of her shoulders, she eliminates the space between their skulls and slams the top of her head into his face.

Blood spurts, nasty and free flowing, a geyeser of blood as he howls in pain and rage. He backhands her and lets her drop back to her knees, swearing up a storm as he leaves the tent. His eyes have become less wild, though, no longer the dilated insanity of a Troll berserking. Despite his anger, she gets the feeling she's saved him from something.

Something he didn't want to let himself do.

She's left kneeling, struggling to breathe around her panic in the emptiness of her prison, wondering what could be worse than that creature putting anything of himself on her, or in her.

ooo

Days later, they move her to the great temple that's submerged in the cove at the heart of the Swamp known for its sorrows.

Females attend her, fearful creatures that are probably less malicious than starved wolves, unbinding her hands and bathing her in clear water, annointing her with strange oils that make her flesh tingle. Maia can't even steal a sip of her bath water, so diluted by unholy ointments and the milk of some mammal.

When she's clean and reeking like a perfumed, sacrificial mare, she's presented with the remains of her long, dark hair.

They've bound it to the end of what looks like a short wand, the hilt wrapped in leather that's pulled so tight it makes the whole thing smooth. Her severed hair dangles free and untangled on the other end, flicking like a tail.

When they hold her over a barrel and pry her legs apart, she knows this description is horribly apt.

Even gentle, it's the humiliation of the whole thing that finally breaks her.

It's night when the bind her to the altar.

The stars have come out and the moon is red, gibbous and bright in the sky. She's told she must stay here to be held in the eye of Hakkar, so that he might see the vessel of her body and accept it as the offering it is.

They're almost reassuring when they say it, like she should feel safe and honored.

Jul'Kazor is leering at her, running his hand over her prone body, tugging at the gleaming tail that dangles from between her buttocks. She looks away from him, miserable and terrified and weary of this mess.

He leaves her though, untouched but prone, bound in place, arms above her head and legs outstretched beneath the sky, alone on the make-shift platform at the very top of the temple rising above the red waters.

Her sobs of misery echo across the cove, the chorus of frogs her only company as, finally, the village of her jailers goes silent and still, a day of rest before their moment of spiritual manifestation.

She whispers Koda's name, tears tracing cold lines down her cheeks, despairing.


	19. The Wings and the Prayer

The light of false dawn prickled the crusted lashes of Maia's eyes. She blinked blearily at the horizon, realizing then that she was no longer alone. It would be sad to admit it as a relief, but the little bit of sanity she still clung to chastized her for it.

Masked priests stood around her, fifteen in number, each facade a different emotion, a different _loa. _Strange mud coated them from head to toe, glistening with the freshness of it, reeking of rot and strange essences.

Maia tried to will herself to just not be there.

They never touched her. Their chanting was low, intoned in breathless pleas and anxious, angry words. They wrote sigils on her skin with cool charcoal tipped sticks, dusted her with fine powders from a feather fan, and she slowly began to catch the meaning of their rites and rituals.

She was intended as a concubine to their bloody god, a powerful mage, a vessel capable of carrying his mortal avatar to birth for him to claim with his angry spirit. They sought to invoke him in physical form, to bring down his essence to fill her with his seed.

That panic that rose in her chest came. Came, and then went.

The fear was exhausting, and she was just too tired.

She dozed throughout the day as they chanted and moved around her, blessed her and cleansed her again and again. Her back was beginning to hurt, other things too; she tried not to thing of the image she made, hacked hair and flowing 'tail', naked, drained. It was easier to ignore it, to pretend this was all some nightmare, a dream from too much mead and not enough food.

By the time the sun had begun to set again, the fifteen priests were slowing in their chants and prayers. Her skin felt caked with filth and writing and bad magicks. When the last sliver of light fell beneath the horizon, the sky red and angry, the torches were lit and each priest knelt around the altar.

Jul'Kazor hefted a sword with jagged edges, it's blade made of gleaming stone, and one by one felled each priest with a single stroke to the neck.

Fifteen heads were mounted on pikes around the platform.

Fifteen severed necks dripped blood into elaborate trenches carved into the stone around Maia's body.

Beyond her feet, hands out in the direction of the rising blood moon, Jul'Kazor began his invocation.

She willed herself not to cry, gritting her teeth and gazing defiantly upward.

Five masked attendants came forward, dressed in the same mud as the priests, only like their's, in the end, it was dry and cracking around their joints, flaking off on her flesh as they approached her, two on either side of her torso, and one leaning over her legs.

Her grace began to tremble.

Four sets of hands speckled mud and dust over her hips and abdomen, fingers hovering above her skin, one attendant stood between her open thighs, hands spread in the air above her pelvis.

A gong sounded.

The hands descended, rested on her skin.

Another note on the gong.

Four sets of hands lifted. The one on her hips remained.

Another note rang into the air. Jul'Kazor raised his voice. The moon was beginning to rise.

The four sets of hands returned, each palm cupping amber-tinged oil. When the gong rang again, the hands turned, dumped their contents on her flesh. Another toll, and they rubbed it into her skin.

Enduring pain, torture, these are things one would expect when bound to an altar, at the center of a heathen ritual to a blood-thirsty god. Disembowlment, flesh-cutting, blood-letting... it was what Maia was preparing herself for. So it was completely mind-bending when, as the oil was massaged into her flesh, a blissful, euphoric wave of sensual warmth spread through her limbs.

This scared her far worse than anything they'd done so far.

The fifth pair of hands belonging to the attendant between her thighs scooped handfuls of the oozing liquid, rubbing down her hips, annointing her belly and running slowly down the insides of her thighs.

Maia's back arched above the altar, gasping at the hateful heat that was unfurling through her.

This was worse than pain, she'd decided.

When the fifth attendant's fingers touched her aching flesh between her legs, she began to beg for her freedom.

The gong sounded.

Four attendands stepped back.

Jul'Kazor hefted his sword and stood before one. The attendant bowed his head.

His head rolled across the floor.

The second bowed when it was his turn.

_Thunk._

And so it went until only the fifth remained, rubbing at the apex of her body with slow, even strokes, coaxing hateful shudders and whimpers from the drained mage.

Jul'Kazor stood at her head, facing away from her body and the moon, calling the spirits to witness. He began to disrobe.

Thick fingers slid into her.

Maia felt herself clench around them.

"Stop," she croaked, eyes snapping open wide to stare at the Troll that touched her, searching for the eyes behind the mask, the soul beyond the filth. "Stop, please stop-" she begged.

His hands didn't stop; worse, they were slow and gentle and insistent.

It made her think of Koda.

Violently, she shook her head, unwilling to defile his memory by summoning him to mind here. "Stop!" she said again, voice breaking. "Stop, stop, STOP-!"

Jul'Kazor ignored her; his voice rose into the night.

The attendant ignored her too, hunched over, the long, pointed end of his mask hovering above her belly. His hands kept working.

The heat of the oil was powerful, the perfume of it masking the odors that permeated the night and the ritual. It hung over her like a thick blanket, smothering her sense with stupor, making her more vulnerable to her terror, even as the pleasure in her body mounted and mounted.

Yes, this was so much worse than pain.

When she came to that inevitable point, Jul'Kazor's voice droning in the background, she bit her lip, refusing to cry out. But the mask of the attendant hovered closer.

"Don't hold back," the voice said, so soft she almost missed it. "It won't work if you hold back."

She was losing her mind. The voice was worming it's way inward, just like those thick fingers.

"Don't stay silent. Shout it." Two fingers pushed deep, hard.

He leaned closer.

"Trust me... Maia."

Her eyes snapped open again, head lifting to stare into the eyes of Kodakai gazing back at her through the elaborate mask, fierce and hard. His fingers curled up within her.

She threw her head back and screamed her release.

And then all hell broke loose.

ooo

There was a commotion on the steps below the temple, a shrieking hiss followed by the terrified screams of people caught unawares. Crashing, thrashing, flapping chaos, and above the din there was Jul'Kazor, screaming his head off for order, sounding more frightened than any of them, his voice shrill and full of panic.

Koda's oil slick hands pulled at her bindings and slice them with a sharp knife as the priest's attention remains arrested by the antics far below. The hunter hisses an apology when he nicks her ankle, helping her down to almost collapse on her shaking legs.

He crouched low, pressing into her, pushing a heavy canteen into her trembling hands. "Drink, Maia, we don't have much time."

His words were as intoxicating as the oil that still burned her skin and dulled her senses. She dropped the waterskin and reached beneath the mask, disbelieving, too terrified to feel relief. His hands closed around her wrists, guided her hands to the canteen again.

"Please... please, my love, you need to drink-"

"No," she breathed. "No, I need to see. Please let me see... I want to know it's you, and not... not some final vision sent to torture me..."

He paused, gazing at her. Then, with an upward glance to make sure the priest was still distracted, Koda exhaled slowly and drew back the mask.

His proud nose was flanked on either side by cheeks wet with tears, his beautiful face the only part of him not covered in stinking mud. His eyes were fierce but wet, gazing at her with a dozen different emotions flitting through his expressive features. A body made rigid with these same feelings, he quivered, poised like an arrow on a taut string when her trembling hands cupped his jaw.

"You're here," she whispered, fingers straying across his lips.

His lips curved in the echo of a smile, and then he was pressing the canteen back into her hands. "Please, Maia, drink-"

There was a howl of rage, and a large two-toed foot invaded her vision and smashed into the side of Koda's head, sending the Zandalari sprawling.

_**"NO! SHE IS MINE!"**_came the raw, throat-scorching scream from the Atal'ai priest.

Maia had a moment to steal a swallow of water before he wrenched the skin from her hands, grabbing her by the back of her cropped hair to yank her upward and throw her over the altar. She was gasping for air, hand pushing back against his shoulder as he leaned over her, kicking her thighs open.

His skin smelled foul, broke the spell of the warming oil and sent sharp, energizing fear through her. She bucked and shrieked, legs clamping shut when she felt the tip of him brush the curve of her buttocks.

He swore loud, angry, and gripped the base of the tail that hung down the back of her hips, pushing it hard and sudden and forward. Maia yelped in pain and thrashed forward away from his grip. She saw his savage grin in the corner of her eye, and then Koda was there, throwing himself forward and tackling Jul'Kazor.

She heard their scuffle as she clung to the surface beneath her, praying for the pain to subside so she could move. The pair thrashed and fought, tossed one and then the other, scattering jars, pikes, and severed heads, bloody marks from the floor following them wherever they went. One of them was pinned at the edge of the platform, and then there was a twist and they each wrestled to get their legs under them. It was torture not knowing which was who while she fought the exhaustion and agony, willing herself to breathe,and lower herself to the ground and off the altar.

Seconds stretched like years, and when she finally managed to stand on her own two feet, she looked over just in time to see the Atal'ai grab the braids on either side of the Zandalari's head and jerk him downward, Jul'Kazor's knee connecting to Koda's jaw with a loud crack.

Koda fell back, dazed, one arm dangling over the edge, his other flopping uselessly by his head.

Jul'Kazor raised his arms, roaring his triumph. Below, something roared too, and it made the priest jump in fear. He stared down the side of the temple, eyes wide, pupils closing to points as terror made him pale and stink of anxiety.

Maia stood on shaking legs, gauging the distance between them, steel growing through her nerves as an idea bloomed, making her straighten and lift her chin. She felt the trickle of mana, just a little from her only desperate swallow of water; it was still the most she'd had at her fingertips in days.

When he turned his gaze back to Koda prone on the ground, the priest's lip curled in a snarl as his hand closed around the hilt of his stone sword, the weapon propped up against a pike nearby. He was raising it above his head when Maia spat his name.

He jerked and looked up her, wild eyes meeting her's.

She bared her teeth at him and took a step backward.

His snarl became a leer.

Gods, she hated him.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. He laughed, eyes wide in disbelief and triumph.

"Ya have barely enough power to light a candle, silly soft skin." His grin was crazed, yellowed, rotting teeth glistening and wet in the torchlight. "What are ya gonna do?" He turned his head to spit, eyes never leaving her face. "_Freeze_ me with that glare o' yours?"

He seemed to find that image especially funny. He threw his head back a laughed maniacally at the rising scarlet moon.

Maia's eyes narrowed, counting the feet from him to where she stood.

She took a deep breath...

-then another half step back, tensed, and then _blinked_ across the distance, shoving her arms out at the last minute.

She used the push against Jul'Kazor's chest to hurtle backwards, feeling the edge of the platform beneath her toes-

_-too close too close TOO CLOSE-_

-and falling back on her hips so she didn't land quite on the horrible tail plug.

The priest's startled expression as he fell back, arms flailing out, was a balm to her eroding sanity. She lifted her chin as she heard his wail interrupted by the neck snap on the first step he hit, looking down to watch him sprawl and land on the ground far, far below.

She could see, now, what was causing the noise and chaos; a white, glowing windserpent, the largest she'd ever seen, had manifested at the base of the temple, tinged red, aura snapping bright with power. It shrieked and lunged, snapping limbs off fleeing Atal'ai worshippers, tossing his head and throwing them aside. There were bodies everywhere, the serpent's great, flapping wings snuffing fires, the villagers much fewer than Maia remembered. Soon, the survivors dove into the water and swam desperately for shore, their cries of horror going with them.

Silence, save for the stroking of scaled, feathered wings through the warm swamp air. She didn't recognize the creatures beads and colors until the wrath spell ended, and the windserpent shrank to a more normal size.

He coiled as he flew, still near three times the size of his master, tail whipping and head lashing about. He looked up, forked tongue darting forward, and voiced a soft cry to the mage above him.

Maia raised a weak, trembling hand, then turned to look at the hunter sprawled nearby.

Koda was groaning, sitting up slowly and rubbing at his jaw, swearing under his breath. Limp with relief and exhaustion, she leaned backwards on her elbows, taking the pressure off her ass and settling it on her lower back. He looked over at her, curling forward slowly to stand and make his way to her.

When she stood up, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, until her toes left the ground and her arms were wound tight about his neck. She whimpered his name, shaking, gratitude and love pouring from her to him.

"Yes, Maia?" he answered, tightening his hold on her.

She wiped her eyes on her arm, pulling her head back to look at him and meet his gaze.

She lifted her chin, anger flaring deep within her chest. "Make him eat the monster," she whispered fiercely.

Koda blinked at her, then leaned over a little to look at the sprawled body of her tormentor below. His eyes flicked back to her, and he nodded.

His lips pulled back as he gave a piercing whistle, and Maia pressed her face into his neck as the sound of breaking bones and wrenching flesh comforted the last of her madness.

* * *

Author here. Whew.

There's still more. I wrap my happy endings up in a nice, sticky little bow.


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